Eggshells
by Amelia Day
Summary: Growing up in an abusive household, Peeta Mellark finds it hard to trust anyone. Katniss Everdeen is always up for a good challenge. Modern Day AU.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

_Warning: Story centers around abuse and may involve trigger scenes. _

* * *

Prologue

* * *

It's been a summer full of rain.

Thick black rainclouds paint the sky almost everyday. The droplets fall so quickly and heavily that they pool in the streets, unable to get down the gutters quick enough.

I like the rain, when I can take a few minutes to stop and stare at it through the window in the front of the house.

_It's pretty _I can't help but think to myself. I watch as it's hurled to ground outside, coming down so quickly it actually bounces up a little before completely landing, and being swept away by the current.

"Peeta!"

Mama calls my name just as a sharp crackle of thunder ripples through the sky, followed by a long flash of lightening.

Between the loud noises outside and the sudden calling of my name, I jump back away from the window in fright, landing on the floor with a thud.

Mama laughs, calling me over to her. "Come on now Peeta, I don't have time for your nonsense."

She must be having a good day. I take advantage of it and shoot her a crooked smile, hurrying to where she stands.

"Now you know you're being trusted with a very important responsibility, yes?"

I nod.

"Then don't let us down."

She hands me the thin raincoat that had belonged to Bannock, my oldest brother, who passed it down to Rye, my second oldest brother, who no longer fits into it, so it's been handed down to me...the youngest of three.

There's holes in the seams of the sleeves and honestly, it's as if I'm not wearing a jacket at all, but I don't complain. Complaining will only turn mama's good mood into a bad one, _quick._

Plus, I wasn't raised to be ungrateful or wasteful.

"Now, I don't want to hear any nonsense about the thunder or lightening, you hear? You just go on and get those deliveries out and hurry home. There's plenty to do here."

"Yes mama," I nod as she begins shoving freshly cooked and packaged loaves of bread under my shirt, to keep them from getting wet. The heat stings against my bare chest and I wince just barely before she instructs me to put on Rye's old rain boots.

"Alright, now scoot on out."

She pushes me out into the rain and a moment later I hear the door shut tightly behind me.

It's silent outside, besides the rain. Everyone has retreated into the heat of their homes.

I push the warm loaves against my body closer and step carefully off the rickety porch.

Rye's old boots are probably two sizes too big for my good foot, and I can feel my heal pop in and out of it as I trudge along on the muddy path.

My false leg has picked up a pretty steady throb in the seam that connects the metal to whats left of the skin on my thigh. I lost the real one years ago. The bad weather tends to make it ache more than usual, but Mama is finally trusting me to help out with deliveries and I don't want to disappoint her.

She doesn't like to talk about my leg very much, so we don't. It embarrasses her, and when Mama is embarrassed she gets angry. I don't like to see Mama angry, so I play pretend. I pretend I have a real leg, like Rye and Bannock do.

I wipe my soaking bangs out of my eyes and sniff, relieved to see the Major's house just in the distance-my first stop.

I feel instant relief from the pounding rain once I make it onto his covered deck, and pull the packaged bread out from under my shirt.

I grasp the cold metal knocker and hit it against the door three times before waiting for someone to appear. Through the windows that lay on each side of the large door I can see the inside of the beautiful house.

The marble flooring, the plush furniture that looks as if you could sink into it, the warmth of a fire place going in the living room...

I hear footsteps approaching and straighten up. If they caught me snooping they might tell Mama, and if _Mama _found out...

The door opens startlingly quick and I jump back, straightening my posture.

"Good afternoon," I greet shyly.

"Hello there, what do you have for me?"

It's Mrs. Undersee, the Major's wife who comes to the door with a beaming grin. Behind her, I catch a glimpse of their daughter, Madge, who I go to school with.

"I...uh..." I hand her the loaf and she smiles appreciatively.

"Still warm. Thank your Mother and Father for me, alright little one?"

"Yes ma'am."

She pats my head fondly before ordering me to get into the warmth as soon as possible.

"Don't want to catch cold now!" she calls after me as I plod down her steps and off into the rain.

I make four more stops before I start for home again, and by then, the saturation had completely soaked through my thin raincoat and shirt, numbing my trembling form.

I push through the door and have barely stripped from the wet garments when Mama appears through the bakery doors.

"What took you so long?" she asks, her voice holding a dangerous edge to it.

I slump to the ground with a tired sigh. My leg feels like it's about to burn off and my breaths comes out in such ragged pants that it takes me a minute to fully catch my breath.

She glances down at my boot covered foot and then the stub of my false leg uncovered before rolling her eyes.

"I don't want to hear any nonsense about that leg, Peeta. Grow _up_. Now come on, you have duties to attend to in the kitchen."

"But _mama," _I groan as she grips my wrist roughly, dragging me through the door off to the side of the house which leads to the bakery.

"Hush," she snaps, her grip on me tightening. "Not another word. Your brothers don't complain, why do you? Huh? Should I have simply stopped with two? I told your father two was enough, but _no!_ He wanted to try for a little girl...and we got you._"_

I feel my cheeks burn on my face at the familiar story mother has told me at least four times. Bannock and Rye hear, of course, but don't turn away from their stations.

"Quietly working," she observes, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. "You need to learn to be more like your brothers, Peeta. I've just about had enough of you."

She lets go of my wrist with force, pushing me to the spot next to my brother, kneading dough.

Rye breaks me off a good chunk of the bread dough and instructs me to mold it into six different loafs.

I watch his clever hands work quickly, only tossing and shaping the dough for five to ten seconds before placing it on the baking sheet. They looked so neat and perfect.

He caught me staring and glowered in my direction.

"_Quickly,_ Peeta."

I start my own molding and shaping process, but they all either come out too small or lumpy or imperfect. Rye sees my struggle and sighs loudly, pushing me back a little.

"Bring that tray to the ovens...I'll handle this."

I limp over to where he set the tray of what's sure to be cheese buns and grip it tightly in my hands.

I make it about half way across the kitchen before my leg gives out and I tumble to the ground, bringing the tray along with me.

If possible, the room grows quieter. All eyes are on me, and mine are on the floor. My cheeks sting on my face, my heart is pounding inside my chest and I can see my hands shaking on the ground beside me.

_This is not good. _

"What did you _do_?" Mama's voice makes me wince as she speaks an octave higher than normal.

A sharp pain shoots through my scalp as I feel her finger nails tug on a patch of my hair.

"You _look_ at me while I'm talking to you, you worthless brat!"

She pulls roughly on the tender spot once more and forces my head in her own direction. My eyes meet her own, and I hardly recognize them.

It's amazing how much someone can change in just a few short years.

Mama didn't always use to be like this. When I was littler, she loved me more than anything else in the world. In fact, Rye and Bannock-my older brothers-use to pick on me, walking around calling me a goody-two-shoes and all that because they thought mama even _favored _me.

Maybe she did. I was too young to tell. For the most part, those memories have been suppressed and tucked away to the back of my mind. All I can remember are the dead eyes that stare back at me, a mix of pain and loathing.

"What have I told you, _time and time_ again Peeta?" she seethes, her breaths coming out raggedly as she fights not to lose control.

Rye and Bannock stand off to the side, attempting to look away, but I catch their glances every now and then. They don't step in, or try to help me. I don't expect them too, either. It's every man for themselves around here.

If they tried to help me, I'd still get beat. Only difference is, they would too. Twice as hard.

So, instead of helping, they turn back to their duties in the bakery and pretend nothing is going on.

"D-d..." I swallow heavily, "Don't mess u-up."

"Quit your stuttering! What have I told you?"

"Don't mess up!"

I cry out as she grips my head impossibly harder and forces my body to the ground.

"What do you say when you're finished talking to me?"

"Ma'am," I whisper.

She lets go of me with a rough tug, and my body instinctively curls into a ball to block any incoming blows.

"You're nine years old now Peeta," she sniffs. "Too old to be makin' stupid mistakes!"

I hear something hurled to the floor with a crash and jump. It rolls a little and bumps into my knee.

The rolling pin.

Color drains from my face as I shake my head vigorously.

"No mama, please! I won't mess up again, I-I promise! I'll be g-good!"

She yanks me to my feet by the collar of my shirt and pushes me back into the counter top behind me.

"Quit your whining," she hisses. "Pick up that pin and bring it here. Come on now, take your punishment like a man."

I feel heavy beads of tears trailing down my face as I pick up the heavy baking tool and shakily hand it to Mama.

She stares at me for a moment, intimidatingly, pursing her lips.

"Turn around, Peeta."

I don't dare disobey.

* * *

I haven't given up on my other stories and plan on updating them soon. This is just an idea I've had for a while now and needed to get it out, let me know what you think! A really big thank you to Misshoneywell for all the help and support she's given to me. Feel free to follow me on tumblr...details on my profile.

-Amelia Day


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Thank you so much to Fnur and misshoneywell for all the help you've given me with this story.

* * *

Chapter One

* * *

_I can't quite get it right._

The sun has barely peeked over the tips of the trees that lace our backyard. It rises steadily, a mix of deep oranges and yellows and shines down on the morning dew that covers the grass.

And I can't draw it, damnit.

I erase yet another angry pencil mark and sigh, running a hand through my hair and tapping the pencil against my scalp impatiently.

I squint as I turn back to the sun, trying my hardest to capture the scene before me as best that I can.

A car door shuts a little ways down the street and the engine roars to life a moment later, breaking the peace of early morning, but I hardly notice it. It's the same car that leaves around this time each morning.

I take a deep breath of air and exhale contently as a gentle wind passes by. It's my favorite time of the day, a rare time when I'm actually _alone. _Like I'm a thousand miles away from the entire universe...

"Peeta!"

But I'm not.

I jolt at the harsh whisper that sounds from the window below me, where Rye stands with his head peering up at me.

He waves for me to come down off of the roof, then motions to his watch when he sees what can only be the quizzical expression I wear. I glance down at my own in horror, realizing it's much later than I've realized. Almost six thirty.

I close my sketch pad and tuck the pencil into the spirals that hold the whole thing together before snapping a quick shot of the sunrise with the camera that sits slung around my neck.

It spits out the film almost immediately and I fold the picture in half, shoving it into my pocket as I scale the side of the house, blindly searching for the window ledge with my good foot.

I feel Rye's hand around my ankle as he guides me until I've landed and can get myself through the window.

"You've gotta stop doing that," he grumbles. "Your_ leg_."

"It's _fine_," I assure him.

"Mom would kill you."

"What else is new?"

He lets out an uncomfortable chuckle and rolls his eyes, patting my back with a hard _thud. _

Rye and I have always had somewhat of an awkward relationship. We've never fully known what to say to one another.

I blame it mostly on the fact that while growing up, he and Bannock were extremely close and I was more of a nuisance to them both. Although Rye and I are only a year and a half apart, he might as well have been twenty years older than me.

With time having slipped away from me this morning, I know I don't have much before Mother could possibly fly through the door to make sure we're awake and getting ready.

I briskly walk over to the drawer where my few pairs of underwear and socks belong and pick them up before sliding the thin notebook underneath and toward the back of the drawer. I make sure it's completely covered before closing the drawer with a sigh of relief.

Rye thought it was the stupidest place-my underwear drawer-when I first began hiding my notebook and other drawings there, but it hasn't failed me yet. Mother never finds herself in my drawers, because I'm in charge of the family's laundry.

Mother hates that I draw and paint.

"_That's what little girls do Peeta, sit around and have tea parties and paint! Are you a little girl?"_

_My cheeks grow hot against my skin as I see Bannock and Rye appear in the doorway behind her, giggling and blowing kisses in my direction._

"_N-no," I say slowly._

"_Its time to start growing up Peeta. You're not a_ child. _You have responsibilities to attend to...you can't waste your time on these silly drawings."_

_She snatches the paper from my hand and studies it for a moment before snorting and shaking her head in disgust. _

"_It's not even _good. _I'm doing you a favor."_

_She rips it right down the middle, then again and again and twice more for good measure. The pieces fall to the ground like snow as I stand there helpless to do anything about it._

"_Pick up this mess." _

I shake the memory out of my mind and shove my old camera into my book bag, in case I see something I might want to draw later on and need to take a picture.

Mother doesn't know about the camera either; it isn't like I spent a whole lot of money on it. I found it at a garage sale, the owner only wanted five dollars for it, and the thing works perfectly.

Only downside is it only prints black and whites-but that's alright, it gives me a little freedom when it comes to a color palette.

There's a sudden rapping of knuckles against the thick wood door, and Rye and I both freeze in our positions.

Mother doesn't come in, but I can tell it's her by the heavy and exasperated breaths that sound from the other side.

"Are you awake?"

"Yes," we say at the same time.

She informs us that we have ten minutes to get downstairs, and that we have some chores to get done before we can leave for school today.

"Peeta?" Mother adds, her voice holding a distinct disfavoring taste to it.

"Y-yes?"

"Hurry up."

"Yes m-ma'am."

Losing track of time has set me back on my schedule a little bit, so I opt out of taking a morning shower and splash cold water over my face instead. I run a brush through my hair and teeth and slip into my school slacks before making my way down the stairs as quickly as I can.

Rye has me beat and has already begun loading heavy flour bags from the basement up to the first floor behind the door to the bakery. There's a cloud of white that follows him and settles like smoke in the hallway, making me cough as I fight my way through.

"Need h-help?" I question as he sets the third bag down near my foot.

He wipes a bead of sweat from his face and shrugs.

"Better go see what Mom wants you doing for sure 'fore you jump to conclusions."

He's right. How many times before have I jumped the gun, thinking I'm doing everyone a favor when really it's just setting back progress? It never ends well. Mother likes to be asked.

I shuffle through the heavy bakery door and see Dad and Bannock kneading dough in the corner and Mom cleaning the outside of the display case for the wedding cakes.

I clear my throat and Dad glances up from his work, smiling tiredly in my direction before giving me a quick nod. Mother doesn't acknowledge I'm here.

I shift from foot to foot, unsure of how to go about starting up a conversation with her. These are waters that need to be tread very lightly, because if I sit here and say nothing, of course she'll get mad because I'm wasting time... but if I say something, there's also a good chance she might get upset.

"Uh...Mo-om?"

Her head snaps up in the direction of my voice, eyebrows furrowed together impatiently, waiting for me to speak. I swallow heavily, suddenly feeling five inches tall.

"Can I h-help? With anything?"

"Oh, now the princess is ready to help, hmm?" she chortles, rolling her eyes before pointing to the broom in the corner of the room, behind the customer entry to the bakery.

"Sweep up. We can't have customers walkin' in all this flour."

I do as I'm told and silently begin sweeping up the floor, but it feels like an impossible task. Every time I sweep the small pile of flour I've built up, or someone walks past it in a hurried fashion, it puffs up into the air and scatters about again.

After about five separate trips outside, the bakery floors look spotless. I smile appreciatively, place the broom back in its spot and wash up quickly.

Rye is annoyed on our short walk to school. For the most part, what he says goes in one ear and out the other, but I nod and add a noise of agreement when appropriate.

"If I didn't have to work at the damn bakery I could afford my own car," he grumbles on.

He has a point. If he applied to work somewhere else, he could probably ask for twice what he earns at the bakery. It's hard to feel too bad for him though, his pay is still higher than mine-averaging at about two dollars an hour, and that's only because Dad insisted.

"Yeah, but where would you d-drive to? You live not ten m-minutes from the school and work at h-home."

"Fuck you Peeta, that's not the point."

I laugh lightly to myself, shaking my head as we continue the walk in silence.

I'm relieved the warning bell sounds just as Rye and I enter the school building.

Everyone begins to scatter, rushing off in different directions to get to their classes. There is no time left to wander aimlessly pretending to have a purpose when everyone knows I don't.

Rye lets out an exaggerated sigh, his shoulders slumping in annoyance and doesn't even turn to say goodbye before bounding up the stairs. He likes being early to school, because Rye is well liked and has friends...and a purpose.

"Later," I mumble sarcastically as he disappears.

The hallway has nearly completely emptied out when I turn into my first class of the day, but there's still nearly a full minute before the late bell will ring.

Before I can make it to my desk, Mr. Templesmith catches me and hands me a paper. I see his lips moving, but can't hear him over the roar of the students who chatter behind me.

I nod my head anyway and he flashes me a thumbs up. Probably just directions or something. I'm not too concerned because the most pressing matter at the moment is the seemingly thousands of eyeballs that watch me right now.

I memorize the tiles on the floor as I walk to my assigned desk; the row furthest to the left, fifth seat in. It's alphabetized unfortunately; otherwise I'd have chosen the very last seat.

But, at least this side of the room has windows, not just a long row of chalkboard.

It's not the greatest view, just the front entrance to the school, the parking lot and across the street-farmland as far as you can see.

This time of year, there's nothing growing, so it's mostly a bunch of weeds and mud. With it just hitting mid-March, temperatures haven't risen above fifty yet, and most everything is still bare or dead.

The final bell rings and Mr. Templesmith glides over to the door and locks it before turning back to us with tired eyes and a weary expression.

Before he can open his mouth, a hand shoots up from across the room rapidly.

"Yes, Venia?"

"Is this a quiz?" she asks, holding the paper up with a look of distaste. "Because, if it is I don't think I'm the only one who'll agree this is not fair."

Several heads nod in agreement and Mr. Templesmith runs a hand over his balding head.

"I said to keep the paper face down until further instruction, Venia, would you like to take a zero for the assignment?"

"I'll probably get one anyway since _we didn't know."_

Before he can rebut, right on cue Cato and a small group of his friends appear through the small window in the door, jiggling the handle several times.

Mr. Templesmith walks over to the door and starts pantomiming, as if they wouldn't be able to hear him had he started talking.

"What?" Cato asks in confusion, smirking cockily as his friends and the room erupts into laughter.

"You need to get a pass from the office," Mr. Templesmith says, shrugging his shoulders. "I tell you this every time."

"Dude, just let us in," he retorts, his voice growing more frustrated.

"Bye-bye," Mr. Templesmith waves while closing the small set of blinds he has to cover the window and turning his attention once again in our direction. There's one final _boom! _against the door and then just the fading noise of Cato and his friends carrying on down the hallway.

I roll my eyes at their attempt to bully Mr. Templesmith into getting what they wanted, just like they do with everyone else. I'm glad Mr. Templesmith didn't give in though, like most would.

Hell, like I would.

I'm a particularly favorite target of Cato's, if for nothing else the reason being I'm an easy hit.

I don't have anyone to defend me, and heaven knows I'm not going to defend myself. People actually get excited when they see Cato confront me; they know they're in for a good show.

Which is why for the most part, I try to stay invisible. Invisible at home, invisible at school, invisible...everywhere really, because I seem to be asking for trouble everywhere I go.

"Yes, this _is_ a pop quiz and you all _will _be expected to take it. Turn your papers over-if you haven't already, Venia, see me after class-and begin right away. It'll take you the entire period."

I flip the paper over and write my name up top before skimming over the questions. It's on the unit we just began last Wednesday, the Revolutionary War, and I don't remember a single thing we talked about.

It's multiple choice, so that makes it a little easier, but still...what good is having a bunch of answers if you don't know which is right?

There's a loud knock on the door about twenty minutes into class and Mr. Templesmith opens it and holds his hand out for the three boys' late passes.

"Jeez, you must be trying to get me expelled?" Cato continues on, winking at some girl in the back who starts giggling.

"As you can see boys, we're having a test today. Please keep your voices down and begin."

By ironic fate, Cato has the seat directly behind me. He takes his time getting there though; needing to borrow a pencil from someone, standing in the front of the room to sharpen it for ten minutes and then finally starts down the aisle.

When he gets to my desk he kicks one of the legs of it and stumbles dramatically, calling undue attention our way. There are a couple chuckles in the distance and Cato places a hand on my shoulder.

"Dude, was that your leg or the desk?"

My face burns as laughter bursts throughout the room, some in disbelief of his words while others completely goading him on.

"That's enough! Everyone, that is enough. Please, settle down and get back to work."

The laughter dies down until silence takes over the room again. I bury my head into the sleeve of my shirt and rest it there, trying to focus on the test instead of Cato, as he continues kicking the back of my chair every couple of minutes.

By the end of the period, I'm lucky if I've filled in four of the questions on the test. I try my hardest to remember when we went over all this, but nothing comes to mind.

"Mr. Mellark? Class is over."

Defeated, I walk my exam up to the front of the room and drop it into the basket.

"Mr. Mellark?"

"Yes, Mr. T-Templesmith?"

He looks away awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Is uh, your leg alright?"

"Yes," I mumble, pulling my book bag up higher on my shoulder.

* * *

"This Cato kid sounds like a douche bag," Rye says on our walk home from school that afternoon.

I shrug, straining my eyes to look up to the sky above us. I don't usually tell Rye about my issues at school. Not only are they typically embarrassing, but I know it worries him-even if it's just a little.

Usually, the walk home is significantly longer than the walk to school, and once the silence grew awkwardly long, he finally asked me what was up my ass. The story kind of spilled out before I could stop it.

"Does this happen a lot?"

"No."

He nods and doesn't press the issue further. It's all around easier that way, because if I tell him too much, he might feel inclined to step in, and that would ruin everything.

When it comes to school-life, Rye's and mine don't mix. Not only is he a year ahead of me, but he's well liked. People are shocked to learn I'm his younger brother; awkward, timid me. Rye stopped talking to me at school when he was in eighth grade.

We had the same lunch period and I asked him if I could borrow one of his dollars to get a drink from the vending machine when my original exploded. He asked me who I was.

Sure, it's not that bad anymore, he'll nod in my direction when we pass in the hallway and usually say goodbye in the morning, but our interactions are kept to a minimum.

I don't mind too much. I understand why he does it. You associate with a social pariah, you become one, and Rye has too much going for him for that to happen.

First period definitely set the tone for the rest of the day, and for once I'm _happy _to see our house approaching from down the street.

Happiness quickly diminishes once Rye and I step through the doors and the house is eerily silent. I set my book bag down near my shoes and pull the sweater I wore today off over my head, smoothing out my white undershirt.

"Peeta?"

Mother's voice sounds through the door, in the bakery. The familiar feeling of my throat being launched into my twisting stomach appears at the seemingly calm calling of my name, but I know better.

"Y-yes Mother?" I ask, slipping my head through the door.

She's leaning up against the counter top, with her head in her hands and lets out a long breath of air before standing up straight.

"What did I ask you to do this morning?" she asks, her voice deathly quiet. This is how she gets, right before she's ready to explode.

"Sweep?" I croak out in question and her eyebrows raise.

"Are you not positive? Is that why you're _asking_ instead of _telling_ me what you were asked to do?"

"N-no, I know that you asked me t-to sweep this morning-g."

"Then why were you asking?"

"I'm sorry," I say quietly and she nods her head slowly, arms crossed.

"So if you knew that I asked you to sweep this morning, why was it not done?"

I scan my eyes over the bakery floor to find traces of flour lining them. I think back to how I'm _positive _I left the bakery this morning and can't imagine missing such large piles of the product.

"I...maybe Dad a-and Bannock were in h-here while I was at sc-chool. I promise I swept this morning," I try to explain, but my words are becoming jumbled and the harder I try unscrambling them the worse it becomes.

"Is that what I've taught you?" she hisses, swatting me upside the head with the back of her bony hand. "To blame others for your problems?"

"N-no, I'm just...e-explaining-g."

She grips me by the shirt collar and pulls forcefully until I'm in line with her face.

"You are so stupid, you know that?" she asks, her mouth twisted into a wicked smile.

"Yes, I k-know."

"I've tried teaching you so many things Peeta, I really have. But you would never listen. I am _such_ a good mother-"

"I-I know," I whisper.

"Then why the hell do I have kids like _you?"_

She lets go of me suddenly and moves behind me, pacing back and forth, muttering under her breath.

I stand still, waiting to be told to do otherwise. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest, feel my hands shaking inside my pockets and I force my eyes closed to capture the tears that threaten to fall.

_Deep breaths._

There's a forced pressure toward the center of my false leg before it buckles and sends me falling to the ground. I catch myself with my hands, but my hip takes the biggest blow.

"If you only did things right the first time," Mother sighs, storming past me.

She stands in the doorway, surveying the room before spitting on the ground and disappearing.

* * *

I'm so shocked by the response this story has received! Thank you for all the reviews and favorite/alert adds, it's been very encouraging. In the future, chapters will be longer, just a heads up. The link to my tumblr is on my profile, so feel free to follow me there :)

-Amelia Day


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Thank you so much to fnur and misshoneywell for all their help on this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Two

* * *

"_Where are we goin' Mama?" _

"_Shh," she whispers to me, a finger over her puckered lips. She runs a delicate hand through my hair and bends down to my height. "Do you want to play a game, Peeta?"_

_I nod fervently and she smiles, taking my small hand in her own and giving it a loving squeeze. _

"_Okay, we're going to play pretend. We're pretending to be secret agents, and we have to be very quiet. Can you do that?"_

"_Yes," I say in my quietest voice and she chuckles before standing back up and slinging a backpack over her shoulder._

"_Alright, come along then."_

"_But Mama," I say, halting in my tracks. She turns to look back at me and it's only then I notice the heavy bags under her eyes-heavy with stress._

"_Where are we goin'?"_

"_We're just...leaving, for a little while," she explains, "Now come on, no time to spare. We need to get going."_

_The front door flies open and the silence of the house disappears with the rattling of the wind and pounding rain. A flash of lightning appears in the sky and instinctively I curl into Mama's leg. She pats my head again and mumbles something, but it's impossible to hear over the storm._

_We run to the car, but our steps seem too urgent, like we're being chased rather than rushing out of just a bad storm. She throws me inside the back seat and jumps in the front, shoving the key inside and roaring the car to life._

_I look at the tangled mess of seat belts and my special car seat and can't quite remember how it all goes together. Mama usually helps me with that._

"_There's no _time, _Peeta!" she hisses, her voice holding a tone I'm not too familiar with. "Just sit down, I'll buckle you later."_

"_But Mam-"_

"_Sit down," her voice is deadly quiet. I place my butt on the seat and hold onto the side of the door as Mama speeds off. Once we've driven away, Mama reaches a hand behind and rubs my knee gently._

"_I'm sorry to yell Peeta, I ju-" she's cut off by the sound of a screeching horn and suddenly we're spinning in circles and-_

I jolt awake, and it feels like the air is too stiff to breathe. It takes several deep breaths to calm my shaking hands and stop the beads of sweat that pour down from my face.

I shake the memory from my mind and run a hand through my drenched hair before turning to the clock that hangs from the wall of Rye and my room.

The sun hasn't even fully risen yet and I can barely make out that it's approaching six in the morning.

Rye is still fast asleep, which makes this embarrassing situation slightly less unbearable. Usually, when I dream badly, I thrash and tend to call out-or so Rye says. He usually wakes me and tells me to shut the fuck up or something like that.

I haven't had one of _those _dreams in weeks though, maybe even a full month.

I sit up in bed and turn so my one good leg dangles off the edge. The detachable false one leans propped against the wall closest to my bed.

When I was younger- and possibly more self-conscious about the contraption than I am now- I used to try sleeping with it on, to keep Rye and Bannock from seeing what they so lovingly referred to as the _"nub." _

It took only a few mornings of waking up with an unbearably sore leg and embarrassing limp to learn some discomforts are easier than others. Since then, I've slept with it off.

Rye doesn't make comments about it anymore, but I have on occasion caught him eyeing it with disgust when he thinks I'm not looking.

Bannock no longer lives with us. He married his high school sweetheart, Clarissa Jamison, last year and they live a couple streets down. He still works at the bakery six days a week.

Bannock grew to be Mother's favorite over the years, if for no other reason than he made the least mistakes. He's always been quiet and a quick learner. Broad and strong and never complaining.

Mother's only hit him a handful of times, and even then the blows weren't nearly as bad as what Rye or I have experienced. He's never been hit with a rolling pin before.

Mother adores Clarissa and even though Rye and I are convinced she's secretly scared out of her mind anytime she steps foot in the house, she's always pleasant and she and Mother seem to get along well.

We're always reminded how _I _was _supposed _to be a little girl when Clarissa comes over. Possibly the worst occasion being when Bannock and Clarissa announced their engagement.

"_Oh congratulations! I've always wanted a daughter," Mother smiled, taking Clarissa's hand in her own. _

"_We were supposed to have a little girl, you know," The table grew visibly colder. _

"_And look what we ended up with!" Mother chanted, jabbing a fork in my direction. Everyone looked anywhere but at her, or me. _

"_Is that twisted humor or what?"_

"_Oh, Peeta's not so bad," It was the one time anyone ever stood up for me. I'll never forget it. My head jolted up at the sound of her voice and Clarissa sent me a timid smile and wink._

_I almost smiled back, but Mothers piercing laughter forced my head back down to my plate of food._

"_Not so bad? Try living with him! Little shit, that's what he is."_

"_Mother..." Bannock would warn, his cheeks turning red at the embarrassing display in front of his soon to be wife. _

"_What?" _

"_That's enough, please."_

"_Well...welcome to the family," Father smiled politely trying to lighten the mood, but it was no use. The mood had died._

When Bannock moved out, I felt a real sense of dread, because all the time and attention Mother would spend showering him with affection was transported to more time spent yelling.

There's no time to spend sketching outside this morning, seeing as my nightmare has made me oversleep, so instead I use my arms to get me to a standing position and reach out for the crutch I use to get to the bathroom during the night and in the mornings.

Since my false leg is metal, I don't readily shower with it on, not to mention the pain of chafing as an after affect.

I hobble to the bathroom and shut the door behind me before peeling off my night clothing and starting the water up, so it has time to warm.

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth and turn my attention to it more fully. The bluish bruise on the side of my cheek from my last encounter with the rolling pin is turning a disgusting shade of yellow, but at least it's beginning to fade away.

I inspect myself for any other bumps or bruises and find two on my left upper arm and one on the back of my rib cage. At least those can be hidden with the help of a shirt. It's the ones that can't be hidden that prove to be most awkward.

It isn't like our home life is a big secret. After all, it's a pretty small town we live in and news travels quickly.

I've been walking into school with a swollen lip or puffy eye since I can remember. Teachers used to ask what happened and I'd respond the way I'd been taught; _I ran into a door, I have two older brothers, I fell playing..._

Eventually they quit asking, because it was just too awkward. They knew I was lying and weren't sure if they really wanted to know the "full truth."

Because everyone _knew_ the truth. Anyone within a mile's radius of our family's house or bakery can hear Mother screaming and the sound of things being thrown.

She's become something just short of a monster to younger kids, who run past our front yard in fear of upsetting her.

Although Father is generally something of a milder, quiet spirit, he finally did insist that Mother not handle customers anymore, in fear of losing business.

It'd be impossible to lose business completely though, we're the only little bakery in this town. We've designed more than half the wedding cakes of couples who reside here and supply almost everyone with their fresh breads and treats.

There's a heavy bang on the door before Rye sounds from the other side, telling me to hurry up. I don't respond, but just pretend I'm already in the shower and can't hear him.

I use the crutch to get me to the side of the tub and then sit on the edge, easing myself down inside.

I gave up on taking showers after I lost my balance and nearly fractured my tail bone a year or so back. I had a pretty nice-sized bruise that didn't quit hurting for months though.

Since then, I've settled for baths.

When it comes to my leg, my insecurities really begin to grow. Not only because it's so different, but also because it's positively repulsive on top of it all.

I don't look very different from my brothers. We've all got the same mop of blonde hair, blue eyes and slightly stocky build from heavy lifting in the bakery. What they have that I've never have is confidence.

I've heard the way the girls talk about my older brothers.

How _sensitive _and _genuine _Bannock is, and how utterly _charming _Rye can be.

"_What happened to Peeta?" _they'd giggle, and I guess I don't blame them. What did happen to me? I'm a one-legged, stuttering loser.

I used to think one day, I could be really good for the right girl, if she'd just let me, but as of late, I've come to proper terms on the matter.

No girl wants to let me.

There's another loud bang on the door, followed by Rye's annoyed sigh.

"You're not the only one who has to get in there, you know!"

"I'm getting out now," I promise, using my arms to get me into a standing position and then holding onto the siding of the wall to gain balance and let the extra water fall down my body.

I towel off and change into my clothing for school before hobbling out of the bathroom, nearly getting knocked over as Rye races through.

"About time, Princess." Immediately his face softens and he mumbles a sorry before shutting the door. He knows that one of Mother's favorite names for me.

Doesn't bother me much, I'm used to her and the things she chooses to say. But not Rye too.

I take advantage of his not being around and fit my false leg to my upper thigh until it feels snug and right.

Sometimes, I experience what's called a 'phantom limb' and it's almost like I can feel my leg there. It's the weirdest feeling, because I'd swear the limb is there and functioning and _real, _but when I glance down it's nothing but metal...or air.

One time, when I was younger and half asleep, I actually fell on my face getting out of bed during the night, because it felt like I had both my legs and I had actually forgotten.

Falling is practically a daily occurrence in my life. I hardly notice anymore.

Once my leg is screwed on and I'm properly dressed I get downstairs to start helping out in the bakery for the morning.

Bannock and Father are already there and cast me their typical head nods and gentle smiles before continuing their prep work on the kitchen.

It's odd that Mother isn't in the bakery's kitchen as well, and the more time that passes the more worried I become. I open my mouth to ask but shut it right away, afraid of what the answer might be.

Father answers for me anyway.

"Clarissa came over this morning with Bannock. She and your mother are having some breakfast in the house kitchen."

"O-o-oh. What should I d-d-d-do?"

Father shrugs, "Nothing that really needs to be done around here. But you know your mother can typically find something."

Bannock snorts, nodding his head.

"I'd ask her, Peeta," he adds, not looking up from his tasks.

I nod and turn to head to the house kitchen, just a hallway down from the door that connects to the bakery.

I can hear Clarissa and Mother laughing before I scoot through the door, but once I'm spotted it dies down awkwardly.

"It's rude to interrupt," Mother sniffs.

"I'm s-s-sorry, I was j-just wondering if-"

Mother rolls her eyes, smacking her hand against the small table with frustration, "I can't stand it when you stutter like that. Do I need to sue the schools or somethin'? How come they aren't teaching you to talk right?"

I'm silent, because I know if I speak it'll only make her more angry. My stutter tends to get worse in increasingly more stressful situations, so when talking with Mother, it's always present.

"What do you want Peeta? I don't have time for your nonsense," she sighs. Clarissa stirs her spoon in the cup of tea in front of her, either ignoring or pretending she doesn't hear the conversation going on.

"I uh-"

"-We're heading off to school," Rye interjects, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Anything you need done before we leave?"

"Well there's always something that could be getting done around here, you know that Rye," she grumbles, "But I suppose it can wait until after school."

"Alright, see you later then," he waves goodbye to Mother and Clarissa before pulling on me to follow him.

"Bye," I say, but only Clarissa responds.

* * *

Rye is happy because we're actually early to school for a change and he's able to catch up with some of his friends before the bell rings.

I find myself in the library, thumbing through random books until the bell rings and it's safe to head to class.

Cato isn't in US History this morning, which has me hoping he's not just skipping class but the full day all together. I relax a little more throughout the period without having him directly behind me.

As the day continues on, it's evident he isn't planning on showing up today and it's amazing how the stress and anxiety of school washes away. No one really messes with me unless he starts. To everyone else, I'm just invisible and that's more than alright.

I head to my locker before lunch time to gather the brown baggy of food I packed last night. It's rare we have leftover cheese buns, but after closing shop last night there were three left from the business day.

Typically, Mother will just wrap them up for the night and heat them in the morning for the new sale day, but these ones were particularly dense and would be hard as rocks by the following day, so she allowed Rye and I both to take one for lunch.

It's funny how people think owning a bakery means it's a free-for-all when it comes to eating the produced goods, but honestly, we hardly ever get to. Only on holidays or when things have gone stale does Mother allow us the treat of the bakery bread or sweets.

I stopped eating in the cafeteria when I entered high school. In middle school, there were a couple of kids nice enough to invite me to sit with them, but I've never been good at making friends.

Mostly because I've never been able to trust anyone. No one has ever given me a reason to, really. Also, not many people are brave enough to strike up conversation with the kid who stutters.

It's awkward and obnoxious. Even _I _hate hearing me talk.

It all sounds so clear in my mind, it's just when it comes out of mouth that the trouble starts.

The school nurse is kind enough to let me sit in her office each day and eat my lunch. In exchange, I help her out with paper work and filing since her eyes _aren't what they used to be._

She tells everyone to call her Mags. Her real name is Margaret Haunter, but she prefers Mags over anything else.

She's a sweet older lady, kind and thin with long gray hair. I'm almost positive she realizes just how much of a reject I am, but she's never said anything to give me that impression.

When I open the door, no one is in the office, which is odd. Typically at least one kid will be feigning illness, curled up half asleep on one of the cots this time of day.

Even Mags isn't around.

I sit down in my typical seat and pull the hard cheese bun out from the tin foil it's been wrapped in. A minute or so in the microwave will make it more edible.

While I wait, I spoon out the applesauce I bought in the lunch line today. It's ice-cold and feels nice going down my warm throat. It's finished before the microwave beeps.

Mags reappears after about fifteen minutes, going on about having to make copies in the main office and how she's sorry she's late.

"I-I-It's alright," I smile, throwing away the leftover trash. "W-w-what can I d-do for you?"

"Well, I just got the spare clothes that needed to be washed back from the home and careers room. Would you mind folding it and putting it all back in the drawer?"

I nod, starting on my task right away. The clothing is still warm and smells comforting as I fold it, making small piles before placing them into their rightful spots around the nurse's office.

Mags peeks up at me with a casual smile between bites of her lunch and the crossword puzzle she's working on and thanks me once I've completed the task.

"Your mother must love having you around the house," she winks.

"She k-k-keeps me busy," I answer politely. She takes it as a joke and laughs genuinely before the bell rings, signaling it's time to move on to the next class.

"Anything e-e-else you need b-before I g-g-go?"

"No, I don't want you to be late to class. Thank you, Peeta. See you tomorrow."

I wave goodbye and make my way into the busy hallway.

Lunch breaks the day up nicely because once its over I only have four more classes to go.

Directly after lunch is Algebra-which I'm proud to say I'm actually not terrible at. I understand math because all it is is numbers. I've always been that way. Words and sentences and _history _did nothing but confuse me. But math has always been a nice relief to my hectic day.

Following math comes Physical Education, which because of my leg I don't actively participate in.

The coaches were pretty bummed to hear about my leg, given that both Bannock and Rye have won the school's annual wrestling competition, but they don't talk about it much.

Instead of running around the gymnasium playing a bunch of games, I have to write essays about why fitness is important, seasonal sports to keep active, nutrition guides-the list goes on. Gym turns from an easy 'A' to scrounging up a 'B' at best.

"Have that paper to me on Monday, okay son?" Coach says, patting me on my bruised back. I fight back the wince and nod assuring him it'll be finished as everyone rushes off to their second to last class of the day.

Mine is English and it's my least favorite of my daily nine. Reading and writing is not my strong suite, and Mr. Crane doesn't exactly care. He always calls on students to read randomly, which proves to be disastrous every time-especially when a collective chorus of groans rolls over the room at the mention of my name.

Currently, we're in the middle of _The Scarlet Letter _which I _wish _I knew something about, but all I see are words written on a piece of paper...

The phone rings and Mr. Crane stops reading to answer. I glance down at the question and answer sheet I'm supposed to be filling out as we read and can't answer a single question that's been asked.

"Peeta Mellark?"

My face immediately flushes red at the sound of my name and the way it makes everyone's heads turn in my direction.

"You're wanted in the guidance office. You can leave now."

I gather my things in my arms and head for the door as quickly as possible, only stopping when Mr. Crane informs me I need a hall pass.

There's a look of abandonment in the hallway as I stroll through. Loose papers and pencils skim the floors and I count five lockers that haven't been fully closed.

It's much easier to walk when class is in session though. I don't have people constantly stepping on the backs of my shoes or pushing and shoving to get through. Just the occasional passerby who ignores me anyhow.

The guidance office is on the clear other side of the building, and once I make it there can't be more than five minutes left in the period.

"Peeta, come on in," Mrs. Trinket says, curling one of her long nails in my direction.

She's fairly young, in her mid-thirties or so, but the heavily coated makeup she wears makes her appear older until you get up close. Her outfits are usually blinding, and today is no exception as she sports a royal blue top that sparkles when it catches the light.

"Do you know why I called you here?" she asks me, typing away on her computer before casting a look my way.

I shrug my shoulders, "I-I-I don't."

She turns the computer screen and I squint at what looks like my report card. I cock my head in her direction and she points a long manicured finger nail under the subject: Biology.

I follow down the line to where the number '45' is typed out.

She then points to the subject: English and beside that, the number '47.'

"You're failing half your main classes, Peeta," she sighs. "It's March you know."

I nod.

"Do you have a plan, to get your grades up and pass the final at the end of the year?"

"I uh...I'll try h-h-harder?" I mean for it to be a statement, but it comes out more as a question which causes Mrs. Trinket to raise an eyebrow my way. "I-I'm really s-s-sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, it's your future. I just don't want to see you in the eleventh grade again next year."

My eyes widen. I hadn't realized that I've been cutting it that close.

"It's not that I think you're not trying...I just think you need a little help is all."

"Help?"

She nods, "Like a tutor. You could meet with one a couple days a week after school or on Saturdays if you'd like. It's a really good idea if you don't mind thinking-"

_Tutor. _I see Mrs. Trinkets lips moving but all I can focus on are the words that've already poured from her mouth, because there are several things wrong with what she's suggesting.

For one, having a "tutor" involves one-on-one interaction with someone else, which involves talking-and that's something I've never been good at. Even now, just sitting here with Mrs. Trinket chattering on, I feel on edge and my hands are sticky.

For another, tutors are expensive, and I know my family is not in the financial situation to fund that-especially not for me.

_Oh, my family! _What is mother going to say (or worse, do) when she finds out I'm miserably failing once again? I can see the anger swelling in her eyes, feel the air constricting from the room-

"Peeta?"

"Hmph?"

"What do you think?"

"I uh...um," I bite my lip and attempt to gather my thoughts. How do I explain that my mother _by no_ _means _can find out I'm failing without sounding either stupid or completely insane?

"My f-f-family, we can't r-really affor-"

"Oh, that's alright," Mrs. Trinket finishes for me, pressing a button on the printer before several pages start pouring out. "We have a peer tutoring program here at the school. It's easy enough to get into."

"P-Peer?" I squeak out, running a hand along the back of my neck awkwardly.

Now I'm faced with a real dilemma of _which is worse; _telling Mother we need to hire a tutor or I'll be repeating eleventh grade, or spending months being ridiculed for my stupidity by one of my classmates.

The obvious response is that telling mother would prove much worse, but my own twisted pride has trouble telling Mrs. Trinket to sign me up for the program.

"I really suggest it, Peeta. You'll be happy with the end results."

"O-o-okay. If you t-t-t-think so."

Mrs. Trinket grins and pushes a paper in my direction, where at the top in big bold letters it says: **Peer Tutoring and You!**

"Look that over and I'll talk around. I think I have the perfect person in mind."

I nod before she lets me know I can get to class now and exit her office. She's on the phone before I'm barely out the door, chattering away.

_The perfect person? _My mind begins to race at the possibilities of who it might entail. By the time I'm turning into my last class of the day-Culinary-I've gone through several faces and names in my mind but no one seems to fit the description of "perfection."

I actually enjoy culinary. Growing up in an environment that circulated around baking has really helped me to harbor an appreciation for it and it's one of my favorite classes.

Today we don't do any cooking though, just watch a movie on kitchen safety and call it a day. When the lights flicker on and the final bell rings, it seems as though everyone is in a rush to get home besides me.

I take my time getting to my locker, even though it's literally one hallway over. I know I can't take too long, because Rye will be waiting, but I'm anything but eager to get home and be around mother.

Not doing morning chores means there will only be a longer list than normal waiting at home to be finished.

I open my locker and stick my head inside taking a deep breath and thinking over anything I might need to bring home for the night when I hear the sound of my voice being called behind me.

"Peeta?"

Curiosity peaks my interest as I search for the owner. Typically, my name is either said with harshness or ridicule deep in the tone, but this voice is soft and natural.

A familiar-looking girl I recognize as Katniss Everdeen stands behind me, running a hand over the top of her head and resting it on the end of her long braid.

"H-h-hi," I stumble out, my cheeks stinging at the embarrassing talking habit.

"Hi," she says almost shyly, "Mrs. Trinket told me to come and find you when I could. She thought I could talk to you about the peer tutoring program."

I open my mouth but nothing comes out, instead I blink not once, but twice.

She glances off to the side awkwardly and clears her throat. "I guess I'll be helping you out with the subjects you're struggling in. Erm..." she pauses to look down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hands. "Biology and English?"

I nod.

"Okay well-"

"Hey Katniss, are you ready to g-_oh. _Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

I recognize the tall boy who stands off to the side as Gale Hawthorne. He's in the same grade and on the same wrestling team as Rye-amongst the other sports he's involved in.

He's another one the girls gush over. His _tan skin _and _gray eyes. _Not to mention his _hunky broad shoulders. _He doesn't seem all too interested in them though-well, most of them.

"I'll meet you outside in just a minute, Gale," Katniss promises and it's all she needs to say for him to take his leave.

We stand in silence for a minute as more students pass by oblivious. I notice her fingers drum on the books she holds in her hands as she rocks back and forth, biting on the corner of her bottom lip.

"So, I was thinking we could meet maybe tomorrow after school?"

"T-t-tomorrow?" I ask, a little stunned at the quick pace she's set.

She only shrugs, "Already March. Don't want to waste time."

"Okay."

"Alright, so tomorrow two-thirty in the library then?"

"Uh yeah, s-s-sure."

The corner of her lips turn up just slightly, "Alright. See you then."

I watch as she heads for the front doors, Gale and her younger sister-whose name I don't recall-waiting patiently for her to join them.

Rye will be waiting for me as well.

I shake my head, clearing the fog that's replaced my brain cells momentarily and grab my books, shoving them into the bag slung around my shoulder.

_Katniss Everdeen. _

Although we've actually never talked until now, there's a reason that name has stuck in my brain for years.

She probably doesn't even remember though, we were both so young.

It was the spring of our fourth grade year, though you'd hardly recognize it as such. Winds were still howling and it had rained every day for the past three weeks.

Katniss and Madge-the mayor's daughter- stumbled into the bakery late one afternoon looking for something sweet at the exact moment Mother decided I needed "punishing."

I'll never forget the look on her face as she watched me fall to the ground with a heavy thud. The way her lips were turned down in sadness, her eyes boiling with anger and small hands balled into fists at her side, shaking.

The short moment our eyes connected displayed more emotions than I'd seen in a single look in my entire life.

They turned and left before they could buy their sweets, overwhelmed or scared or something by the scene that took place before them. Mother was even more angry at me for that.

Needless to say the next day, I was seen sporting a bright blue bruise under my eyeball. I noticed her scrutiny and immediately looked the other way, embarrassed at what she had witnessed and how she knew I was lying through my teeth as I explained how I lost a wrestling match with Bannock.

That was the first sunny day of the month and the kids were excited to get outside and stretch their legs during recess.

I was surprised to hear the pattering of feet earlier than usual as I worked on a puzzle in the corner.

Katniss Everdeen quietly snuck into the room, glancing around from side to side as if worried about being caught for some reason. In her small hand was a single dandelion.

I watched in confusion and slight awe as she placed the small weed on my desk before rushing out of the room.

When the class all filed back in, I noticed her looking my way every once and a while, as if to gage my reaction on the gift.

She thought I had no idea who left the dandelion...

But I did.

* * *

Thank you so much for all the reviews, alerts and favorites! I'm really glad you all are enjoying the story. Hope you liked Katniss's first appearance :-) Also, thank you to the anonymous reviewer who touched on stuttering habits (how it's typically 3-4 times, etc) you helped me out a lot!

Feel free to add me on tumblr.

-Amelia Day


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Thank you so much to fnur and misshoneywell for their help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Three

* * *

After years of working in the bakery, it doesn't matter how many times I wash my hands, there's always flour caked underneath my nails.

I bite off a jagged edge on my thumbnail before running my cracked hands under the water once more for the night.

Our last customer is just leaving when Father locks up the bakery doors. It's only around eight thirty, but with winter still fading the sky has been dark for hours.

I slump against the edge of the counter top and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. For a Wednesday afternoon, we kept fairly busy and made much more than our daily quota. Lately, we've been under, and not just a little. It's made Mother particularly grumpy, especially toward the messenger who delivered the money and news. I think she'll be pleased to hear of the turn around.

Bannock kneads and rolls all the left over pieces of dough into one large ball before wrapping it up and putting it into the refrigerator for tomorrow while Rye grabs the broom to begin sweeping. Father counts the money from the drawer while I collect the dirty aprons and dish rags in silence. Communication has never been key in our family life, and now after nearly seventeen years, we have little to no conversation skills.

What could we possibly have to talk about? Between the four of us, the only thing we share in common is our genes and the bakery. There's only so much that can be said about either.

I don't mind the silence, actually. Neither does anyone else apparently. Better no conversation than an awkward one, which is always the way things turn out between us Mellarks.

"I should be getting home to Clarissa," Bannock mentions after he's finished cleaning the dough and flour off of the counter tops.

"Thanks for helping out," Father speaks, his voice quiet but gruff. "Peeta?"

"Yes?"

"Take these to your mother," he holds out two bags, each of which holds money from the register. One is profit, the other what needs to go back into the bakery.

"Tell her we made above quota today," he mentions as I take the bags into my free hand.

I nod in understanding and he huffs, turning to lock up the register and close the blinds of the bakery.

I call out a goodbye to Bannock before moving past the swinging door leading to our home. Upstairs, I can see Mother's door shut and the sound of the television rings all the way down the stairs.

I knock on the door, balancing the dirty linen in one arm and settling most my weight in my good leg. It takes only a moment for it to swing open and for Mother's eyes to turn from curious to narrow and judging.

"Yes?"

"I-I-I have the m-m-money for you."

I've barely held the bag out and she snatches it from my finger tips, weighing it in her arms.

"We went o-o-over quota today," I try to keep my tone light and positive, shifting awkwardly.

Her eyes brighten and an eyebrow raises in question, "Really?"

I nod and she actually smiles.

"Do you know how much?"

It's so rare she smiles when talking with me that I actually feel my heart begin to swell and excitement build up in the pit of my chest. I like when she smiles, it reminds me of being young and the few short years we spent loving each other. I wish I could make her smile more often.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" she snorts in disgust. "What do _you _know?"

The feeling in my chest rapidly disintegrates as she snatches the bags from my hands and slams the door tightly. I blink a few times before sighing dejectedly and making my way to the wash room.

It's not the night I typically dedicate to laundry, but the bins are piled so high I decide to get an early start and put in one or two loads before bedtime.

I try to keep my piles separated-one for Mother's things, another for Father and Rye and the bakery then myself. Usually, things get thrown about in every which way and I have to go through to make sure the right clothing gets to the right people.

I throw in the bakery aprons and towels that we'll need for morning and put half a cup of soap into the machine before turning it on and exiting the room, down the hall into Rye's and my bedroom.

For all intents and purposes, it's my bedroom. Rye only really comes in to sleep. When he's not helping in the bakery, he's usually busy with his friends or practices.

I shut the door quietly and strain my ears to listen for any noise in the hall. Usually, once Mother has retreated to her room she won't come out until morning...usually.

I sit near the door for another five minutes before deeming the coast clear and tip-toeing over to my dresser and pulling my notebook out from its spot launched under my socks and underwear.

I tuck it under my arm and open the window silently before crawling out onto the ledge and pulling myself up onto the top of our short roof.

Goosebumps pebble my skin from the chilly wind that breezes by and I pull my sweatshirt over the tips of my fingers, rubbing my hands together to build friction.

The sky is completely clear tonight. Thousands of stars shine in the distance like diamonds entangling the large moon. It's full tonight and beaming brightly right above the large oak tree off to the side of our house.

I flip through my sketch book, using a small book light to make the pages visible under the dark night sky.

My most recent drawing of the sunrise a few days back lies unfinished, with the photo paper clipped to the page.

I run the tip of my pencil under the thick outline of the sun but can't bring myself to concentrate on finishing it.

So many things travel through my mind that I find myself leaning back until my back is firmly pressed against the rooftop, a hand resting behind my head for support.

Although I try to suppress the thoughts, Katniss Everdeen flickers to the front of my mind. I can't help but keep picturing her with that dandelion, sneaking it onto my desk, shy, intimidated and clever.

There were many moments where I wished I had said something. Thanked her for the flower, told her how much her small gesture meant to me, but of course I always backed out. What if she was upset that I had caught her? Or denied the whole thing?

When it came down to it, I could never fully shake the feeling that if she wanted me to thank her for the gift, she would have given it to me directly.

There are reasons our paths have never crossed.

Katniss Everdeen is well-known around school, especially after breaking the school's archery record. She hit every single target spot on, so I hear.

That was last year and I remember actually jumping at the sound of her name. I followed the two girls who trailed in front of me closely to pick up on bits and pieces of their conversation.

I've never forgotten about her, she's just been pushed away by more pressing matters.

Not to mention we've never _actually _spoken before today.

Plus, I'm almost positive she's dating Gale Hawthorne. She's practically attached at the hip with him when she's not in class and they walk home together.

_I wouldn't be surprised, everyone is after Gale._

I glance down at the notebook balancing on my thigh and notice the large and out of place dandelion I've subconsciously drawn. My eyelids flutter in surprise at the picture below me and my mind's train of thought. I hadn't realized the tabs I've kept on Katniss Everdeen over the years.

_Push the thoughts away, _I chastise myself. _Not like anyone would want you anyway. _

I flip the pencil over with my finger tips and run the eraser over the paper until the flower has disappeared completely.

It's past late when I sneak back through the window and find Rye already fast asleep. I'm surprised he didn't lock me up on the rooftop for the night-he's done that before.

I tug off my slacks and place them into the hamper dedicated to my clothing then climb into bed. After I detach my limb I let myself get more comfortable under the covers and close my eyes.

It's hours before I actually fall asleep.

* * *

The luck I experienced yesterday has been short-lived when I heard Cato's booming voice from down the hall before the first bell has even rung.

As expected, he stood pressed against a locker with a girl wrapped around his arm and his buddies circling around them, goading him on.

If he saw me scuttle past he didn't say anything, but he always says something, so I've been spared by flying under his radar...for the moment.

The day dragged on, and by lunch time it felt like I had been there five times as long as I should have been.

It also didn't help that all I could think about throughout the day was the tutoring that lied ahead after the final bell.

This morning, I had to explain to Mother that I would be late. I told her I'd be using today to run my weekly errands for her and I'd be home once they were finished. The answer wasn't a complete lie- I have every intention of running the errands, after tutoring. She just can't know about the lessons I'll be receiving. Not only will she be angry that she wasn't told about my nearly failing grades, but she will most definitely rip me apart for it.

I'm reminded of this lie every time I run into Katniss throughout the building. It seems I've run into Katniss more times today than I have in the past several years, but everywhere I look, she's there and I have to turn my head to keep from blushing.

During lunch, I told Mags about the peer tutoring plan Mrs. Trinket signed me up for. She seemed to think it was a good idea and when I mentioned Katniss Everdeen's name she smiled brightly, assuring me she's a very smart girl.

_I knew it._

My afternoon classes seemed to have passed in a fog, where in the moment it felt like they were never ending, but now with it being the end of the day I can't quite remember what was said or done.

The hallways are practically clear by the time I make my way to the library. It's a difficult commute, seeing as Culinary is on the first floor and the library the second. Stairs aren't easy on my leg and it takes more than twice the time it would take others.

I can't help but feel worried about others spotting us and the news of my circumstances spreading throughout the small town and even smaller school.

Especially to Cato.

I glance around the empty library and can feel my muscles visibly relax. I should have known the library would be dead this time of day, everyone is either on their way home or downstairs for sports study hall.

There's just one girl on a computer off to the side, whose ears are plugged with head phones and one more who sifts through the rows of books looking for something to borrow. Both are completely oblivious to me or any reason I might have for being here.

I catch a glimpse of Katniss sitting at one of the study tables off to the side of the room near a large open window. She pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear with the tip of her pencil and continues to browse through a book.

I stumble over my feet for a moment, debating on whether I should approach her, or just wait for her to catch my eye to invite me over herself.

Realizing how ridiculous I must seem, I finally trudge in her general direction and I'm about three steps away from the table when her eyes flicker up and she does a double take in my direction.

"Hi Peeta," she smiles lightly, tapping the same pencil she used to push her hair back on the side of the table.

I lift my arm to cast her a simple wave because it feels like my throat is coated with cotton. She motions to the chair across from her and asks if I'd like to sit down. I shake my head to clear the fog that's risen inside my brain and take the seat silently.

I'm jittery and can feel my real leg bouncing uncontrollably under the table. My hands fidget with themselves on the table top, then on my lap, then back to the table. Katniss pretends not to watch me for a long moment.

It's awkward when neither of us jump to talk, but what do I have to say anyway? I hope she's not waiting for me to strike up the conversation, because by now she must know that is not my strength.

"So, English and Biology?" she asks, though my sheet is sitting right in front of her. I can see the two subjects highlighted in pink no doubt by Mrs. Trinket. Katniss doesn't seem like the type to use a pink highlighter anywa-

"You'll need at least an eighty nine in English to pass for the year, not to mention the exam. And...an eighty four for Biology."

I swallow heavily and I'm sure my face drains some of its color. There's no way this is possible. With only roughly 14 weeks left in the school year I'm not sure how I can jump my grades from failing to nearly A's.

_I can't do this._

"It isn't impossible," Katniss's voice brings me out of my self-loathing and fright.

I chance a glance up at her before I can stop myself and am taken back when her piercing gray eyes meet mine. I turn away quickly, embarrassed by the moment.

"It won't be easy, but we can do it. I figure if we meet three or four times a week for the next couple of months, you'll be fine by the end of the year and for your tests."

I'm silent and hear her breathe heavily through her nose.

"Well, this won't very well work if you don't speak."

"S-s-sorry," I mumble.

She clears her throat before clasping her hands together tightly, "Why do you think Biology and English seem to give you trouble?"

I shrug, not certain on how to answer the question. It's the longest conversation I've ever had with someone at school and I can't help but feel cautious.

"Is it because you don't pay attention?"

My head snaps up at her accusation, mouth open in defense when I see the smirk that rests on her lips. Timidly, I offer a small one back.

"No," I manage, "I d-d-do."

She nods, rummaging through her papers. "Is it the teachers? Their style?"

I shake my head and she raises an eyebrow in my direction.

"So, you just don't understand?"

I nod and she mimics the movement.

"Well, we're going to fix that."

We don't do any studying today. Instead, Katniss asks me a series of questions about my study habits, homework, what makes sense what doesn't and pieces together a list of things she wants to focus on helping me with.

By the end of our hour-long session, my face must be redder than a tomato and Katniss lets out a long breath, slumping back into her seat a little.

"Um...so, I was looking over the last assignment you turned into your English class," she speaks slowly, looking down at the small folder she carries.

My heart drops into my stomach. She was looking at my assignments?

_Well of course she was, she's your tutor. She's supposed to do that. _

Still, I felt myself growing smaller in my chair.

Slowly, she scoots the paper in front of me and it takes a second to even recognize the paper as mine; completely covered in red ink.

I sigh, rubbing a hand through my hair, discouraged.

"I'm s-s-sorry," I stutter out, dropping my gaze to my tangled hands on my lap. What must she be thinking about right now? Can she tell how much of a fuck-up I am?

What if she tells everyone else? What if-

"Don't apologize," she says, her voice stern. "There's nothing you need to be sorry about."

I blink several times in her direction, taken completely off guard. I don't quite know what to make of her request, and I have an overwhelming urge to apologize _for_ apologizing, but bite my tongue.

I try to think of a time I've ever been told not to apologize or that something wasn't my fault, but I don't think I can.

"_I'm sorry,"_ is my most used phrase.

"I'm here to help you, Peeta. By the end of this year, there can be little to no ink on your assignments. You can have confidence in your work."

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes out of instinct. _Confidence? _In just a few short weeks? She must be thinking of someone else. Maybe my brother...

"The mistakes you're making are simple, easy to fix. It won't take much," she encourages, sliding the pencil behind her ear.

"Yes m-ma'am."

She does a quick double take at my words and I feel my cheeks burning under her scrutiny. I'm thankful that the look is as far as her questioning goes before she lets it drop.

"Alight, well that's about all we have time for today. Next time we can get into some more studying, I just wanted to take it a little easier today."

I nod, watching her pack up her bag.

"You know, get to know you a little better. We're going to be spending a lot of time with each other."

Her voice emits professionalism, but I can't help the way my stomach jostles and churns at the thought of 'getting to know each other better.'

Of course, these are completely idiotic feelings to be having and I have to continue to remind myself of this.

For one thing, she will _never_ think of me as anything more than someone who needs her help. Not a friend, and certainly not anything more.

But, this is good. I can't afford to think of her as anything more either. Not with the life I have.

There can be no distractions.

Images of how mother might react, what torturous hate she would cast my way if she were to find out invade my mind and a cold sweat breaks out along my back.

There can be no Katniss, _for me._

* * *

As soon as Katniss and I part ways for the afternoon, I pull the crumpled piece of paper out from my pants pocket and read the things I'm supposed to pick up before returning home.

_Butchers Market-usual_

_Milk _

_Eggs_

I add _bird seed _to the bottom of the list and tuck it back in my pocket. I noticed this morning that the feeders I keep hidden along the side of the house are all empty; I hope they haven't been for long.

Once I've made all my stops and am finally heading for home, the sun has moved down to the side of the gray sky. My arms are filled with groceries and I have to kick the bottom of the bakery door to get the attention of my family inside.

Rye opens the door and takes the bags from my hands, an odd gesture since he usually doesn't like helping. He leans in closer to me, his eyes urgent and whispers, "Mom isn't happy."

I don't have time to ask why or what happened before he's pulling away and making his way to the pantry and refrigerator.

My palms feel sweaty and I can feel them shaking at my sides as I make my way further into the bakery.

Father won't look at me, neither will Bannock or Rye. I'm not sure where Mother is at this particular moment, but I have a feeling it won't be long before she makes herself known.

The door swings open behind me and Father's face turns from a grimace to a smile as he welcomes them and asks what he can help them find. Their mindless chatter is blocked from my mind as I walk through the door leading to the house.

One thing I cannot stand is suspense. If I know something is coming, then I'd rather just get it over with sooner rather than wait in misery for it later.

I drop my bag with a thump, making my presence known before timidly calling out for Mother.

She doesn't respond, but I can hear her foot tapping in our kitchen. I follow the nosy pattern of her shoes until I meet her gaze across the table from me.

"R-R-Rye said you were l-looking for me."

She breathes deeply through her nose, "I'm going to try to stay calm Peeta, because I've been in a particularly good mood today."

I swallow, picking at the chipping paint on the side of the doorframe. I can feel the flakes slide under my fingernails before falling to the ground.

"Where have you been?"

"Errands," I manage to spit out.

Mother laughs menacingly before her lips turn up into a snarl, "You think I'm an idiot, don't you?"

The wooden table flips, making me jump back in surprise and I hardly have time to recover before Mother has me pinned against the edge of the doorframe, gripping the front of my shirt roughly.

"I won't be treated as a damn fool, do you hear me Peeta Mellark?"

"Y-Y-Ye-"

"Yes, _what?"_

"Yes m-m-ma'am."

"Very good," she hisses condescendingly, pushing me back with great force once she drops my shirt. "You've been running those errands once a week every week since the time you were this big," she says, holding her hand a couple feet from the ground.

"I know how long it takes your ass to get back here."

I smooth my palm over the wrinkled spot she left on my shirt, looking anywhere but in her eyes.

"I could care a less where you've been you little shit. You don't need to tell me," she continues on, her voice edging on hysteria. "You could leave and never fucking turn back if you wanted to. No one would miss you."

_I know._

I want to tell her so badly that I know.

I want to apologize, tell her I am so sorry for anything I've ever done wrong and that I just want her to love me.

I wish, more than anything else that she would miss me if I left.

But everyone knows she wouldn't. That is one thing she is not lying about.

"I better not hear from someone else you're parading around town getting into trouble," she sniffs.

"Yes ma'am," I whisper.

"Pick up this table," she demands, pushing me toward the center of the room. "Look at the mess you've made. Worthless creature."

As I'm bending down to get to the floor I feel her foot on my back and roughly she pushes me down faster. With the sudden jolt, I head butt one of the table legs right on the bone of my cheek.

I inhale a deep breath, a small whimper escaping past my lips but nothing more. I don't cry, I don't yell out because that'll only make the situation worse. The quicker I clean this mess, the quicker I can retreat to my room for the evening.

I pick the table up and the things that spilled off of it. There had been an empty porcelain bowl that now lies shattered in pieces along the ground. I sweep up the mess and mop the floor for good measure before flickering off the lights and heading down the hall.

From upstairs, I can see Mother's door closed and hear the television playing behind it. I grab the bird seed and my camera out from my back pack and sneak out the front door to the side of the house.

The chilly wind feels good against the throbbing half of my face. I really should get some ice to put on it-I can already tell it's beginning to swell, the way my eye is forcibly closing-but I'm too ashamed to face Father and Rye and Bannock beaten like this.

I scoop the seed up in my hand and cradle it into the feeders little by little, until each are filled to the brim. Theres still more than half a bag leftover for next time.

I hear chirping immediately, coming from underneath the bushes and pull back one of the branches to reveal a carefully crafted nest in the center of the bush. There are two birds inside, cuddled up with one another and a couple eggs underneath. It'll be a couple more weeks before the eggs hatch.

I snap a quick picture of the duo and place the branch back how I found it before retreating back into the warmth of the house.

I paperclip the picture to a blank sheet of paper in my notebook and shut it tightly.

Tonight, I think I'll spend a little extra time on my homework.

* * *

A big thank you to anyone who's added this to their favorites/alerts or reviewed, it really means a lot to me. I'm leaving tomorrow for vacation and won't be back until the end of next week, so if review replies are slow, I'm sorry! As always, feel free to follow me on tumblr! Details on my profile.

-Amelia Day


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Thank you so much to fnur and misshoneywell for all their help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Four

* * *

My brain gains function before my body.

I _hate _when this happens, because I hate feeling trapped. I've been claustrophobic for as long as I can remember, the memory of how it all started fuzzy in my mind.

But this-being completely paralyzed and vulnerable-makes me extremely uncomfortable, because I know if I really needed my body, it'd be helpless.

I try bullying my eyes into opening and resort to internally begging my limbs to move themselves, but my stubborn body lies like a limp fish across the bed. This lasts only a few minutes, though it feels much longer.

When my eyes finally do flicker open, I can only see out the left. I gingerly touch the tips of my fingers to both of my cheeks and the right protrudes much further than the left due to last night's encounter with the table leg.

_Shit. _I should have sucked up my pride and gone to the kitchen for some ice last night.

The sun has just begun to rise, stretching across the ceiling of the room through our window, but Rye's sheets are pulled back to the end of his bed and he's nowhere to be found.

I reach out for my crutch and hobble over to the door, cracking it open to listen down the hallway for any sounds of life, but it's dead quiet. At least I know I haven't overslept, though I can't help but feel anxious in the absence of everyone else.

I grab some clothing and make my way to the bathroom, turning the water on warm while bracing myself to check out the damage done to my face. Just the little bit of muscle movement I've done since waking up this morning has made my face ache unbearably.

When I meet the mirror, I nearly gasp in shock. The bruise only underlines the bottom of my eye and upper cheek, but the swelling stretches down throughout the side of my face.

It's been a while since I've had such a blatant injury that I immediately begin to panic about the reaction it'll cause. There's no covering this one up.

Over the years, Mother has gotten better at aiming for the places no one can see; like my back, or ribs or groin, but occasionally-like last night-she'll slip, or not care (or both) and leave me with scars and bruises for everyone to see.

I've never been a good liar.

The first time Mother hit me, it was six months after the car accident and I had just turned five years old weeks earlier. Things had been rocky around the house since I got out of the hospital, but I expected they'd go back to normal eventually-Mother loved me.

I was still getting used to the prosthetic and the constant chaffing against my thigh made it throb unbearably, causing frequent tumbles and moments of pure frustration where I could do nothing but sob.

It was the fourth week in June; hot and sticky from the moment the sun rose that morning.

When Bannock, Rye and I woke up, we were instructed to run along and play outside. Mother wasn't feeling well that day and had a pounding headache and short temper, eager to get rid of us.

Every light downstairs was turned off and she had the curtains pulled shut tightly.

"Just hurry up and get outside," she told us, patiently as she could manage. "Don't make any noise, I'm _very_ sick today."

"Yes Mama," we whisper, tip-toeing to grab our shoes.

I realized only after searching the closet that my shoes were upstairs. Mother had just bought me a special pair for my birthday, ones that would fit the prosthetic nub.

"Well, hurry up, Peeta!" Rye hissed, pushing me toward the stairs. "You're so slow. Go on!"

I was _not_ slow, and I was determined to prove to Rye how quick I could be. Getting up the stairs was the easy part; I grit through the morning pain and made it upstairs in less than two minutes.

"Peeta!" Rye called quietly from down the stairs, "Come _on!"_

"I'm coming!" I snapped holding onto my shoes instead of the railing. Of course, I'd never tried walking down the stairs without the support of the railing and ended up tripping over my clumsy leg, tumbling face first down the stairs.

"What was that!?" Mother screamed and Rye ran. I hardly had time to orient myself before she was picking me up and slamming my body against the wall.

My eyes were wide as saucers. Mother had never so much as laid a hand on me _ever_ before. All her touches had never been anything but gentle and loving. This new side of her scared me so much that I began to cry.

She slapped me once across the face before her own eyes flickered with fright. It didn't last long before they turned bitter and dark again and threw me to the ground.

"You are _not_ handicapped, Peeta," she spat, wagging her finger in my face. "You had better quit tripping around like you are!"

I jolt away from the thoughts my mind has led me down and ease myself out from the bathtub, my arms shaking from the aftermath of such a distant memory.

I try soaking a wash cloth in icy cold water, compressing it to my face but it does next to nothing for the swelling. After I finish dressing and brushing my teeth, I hobble back to my room and attach my leg for the day.

The sun is bright out now, and I know I'll need to get downstairs for morning chores before I run out of time and upset Mother so early into the day.

Rye is the first person I see, dressed but disheveled looking. His hair stands up in every which way and he wears dark bags under his eyes.

I notice a blanket and a pillow from his bed lying on the couch, and eye him curiously.

"You were fucking snoring like the dead," he grumbles.

"S-S-Sorr-"

"What happened to you?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting together and arms folded tight across his body before his face grows to recognition, "Wait, that's not from-_Mom _didn't..."

I turn in the opposite direction and hear my brother let out a string of profanities behind me.

"Peeta-"

"It's a-a-alright. She didn't d-d-do it," I say, trying to stay stern. It's not a complete lie, technically the table did...

"_Peeta."_

"It's fine R-R-Rye," I sigh, running a hand through my hair nervously. "It's f-fine."

Mother isn't awake. Father says she isn't feeling good this morning and has chosen to sleep in.

He eyes my face before down casting his eyes to the ground sadly. I shift around the room, sweeping up all the flour Rye missed last night and from prepping this morning.

We don't talk about it. Father doesn't ask me dumb questions like, _Did your Mother do that? _

He used to, but we both know she did, and then what do we say? Sorry?

Instead, he hands me an ice pack and takes the broom.

"I-I-I already tried," I say, still following his instructions and pressing the cold pack to my face.

"It'll help, just leave it there a minute."

By the time I need to leave for school, it's helped enough that I can open my right eye. It's still squinted but the swelling did go down a little.

Clarissa and Bannock walk through the bakery door right as Rye and I are about to walk out. I try to duck my head so she doesn't notice my most recent injury, but it only takes a few seconds before she lets out a long gasp and grabs my shoulders to spin me around.

"Peeta, oh my goodness! _Bannock,_" she shrieks, turning to face her husband who stands in the center of the bakery with a look of indescribable sadness. "Did you see your brother's face?"

"It's f-f-fine Clarissa," I speak lowly.

"What happened?"

"I-I-I-" I can't tell her what really happened. Clarissa knows Mother isn't exactly fond of me, but she has no clue of the physical abuse she enthralls on me, she doesn't need to know.

"I got into a f-f-fight at s-s-school."

Her mouth widens into a perfect 'o' and she runs her hands over my shoulders and down the length of my arms.

"Did you talk to your principal?"

"N-N-No. It's a-a-alright, really. It's o-o-over. I have to go."

I catch a glimpse of Bannock before turning to the door. He watches me carefully before turning to the counter top with dull eyes.

"You're such a liar, Peeta...and not even a good one," Rye snorts.

_I know._

* * *

Almost no one notices the new bruise I sport-I'm invisible no matter what in their eyes-which is fine with me. If anyone notices, they don't say anything or lead me to believe they care.

It's better that way. Less people to hear an unconvincing lie.

Rye ditches me as normal for the time we have before the warning bell. I watch as he takes the stairs by two's to get to his group of friends waiting on him upstairs and let out a loud puff.

I really envy people like Rye; who make friends easily. I don't even have to be well known or liked, it'd just be nice to be..._liked. _To have one person I felt I could trust.

Trust is such a foreign word it sounds funny in my mind. I haven't trusted anyone in a long time.

I pass Katniss on the way to my first class, but she doesn't notice me. Her neck is craned up, listening intently to whatever Gale Hawthorne is telling her. Besides him, Delly Cartwright, Madge Undersee and a couple other kids from around town stand in a circle.

They all laugh at the same time at some sort of joke he must be telling, except for Katniss, who just barely cracks a sly smirk, shaking her head.

I'm the first person in Mr. Templesmith's room for the morning, and he trusts me enough to leave without locking up the classroom to make copies.

I pull out my sketch pad and open up to the picture of the bird family I took yesterday evening. It'll be a pretty one to paint; the dark green of the bushes and plump blue bodies of the birds, with just speckles of black and white in them.

I trace the outline of the nest with my pencil and get lost in sketching that I don't even realize the room has begun filling in until a hand reaches from above me and snatches the picture clear from the notebook.

I jolt upward and see Cato inspecting the picture, a couple of his friends snickering from behind him.

"C-C-Can I p-please-"

"Damn, I didn't know you could draw, Mellark," he smirks, crumpling the paper in his hand before meeting my face.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

What feels like a thousand eyeballs land on my body at the piercing sound of his voice.

"Did Mommy beat you up again?" he laughs, causing a few chuckles from around the silent room as my cheeks sting against my face.

Of course everyone knows what he's referring to. Everyone in town knows of Mother and the way she screams and waves the rolling pin around at her sons-especially me. It's a small town, and she's a loud woman.

"You really are a pussy, Mellark," he snorts, disgusted, "Even your ninety-pound _mom_ can beat the shit out of you. Hey, I have an idea, you can draw a picture of that!"

The bell rings and Mr. Templesmith re-enters the room a moment later. Cato gives my shoulder a firm punch before tossing my picture to the ground. He kicks the back of my chair for the rest of the period.

I wait until he walks by and has left the room before daring to stand up and retrieve the balled-up drawing. I smooth it out best that I can and accidentally tear the edge slightly.

"Everything alright, Mr. Mellark?" Mr. Templesmith asks, staring at his computer monitor.

"Y-y-yes," I nod before waving goodbye and fleeing from the room.

* * *

It's not until I'm sitting in Biology that I remember I need to ask Katniss if it's at all possible to meet sometime during school for my tutoring session today. After last night, I know it's impossible for me to continue meeting after school.

I know there's a good chance Katniss won't agree. I'm not sure if our study halls line up, and other than that our only free period would be lunch, which I'd be willing to bet she won't want to give up.

_It won't hurt to ask, would it? If she says no, then that's that. _

It sounds so simple in my mind.

Instead of focusing and intently listening to the lesson today, I spend the period thinking of how I plan to go about asking Katniss to switch times.

_I know this sounds stupid, but..._

_I know I must seem like a complete idiot..._

_I-_ the bell rings, cutting off my train of thought and forcing me to find Katniss, with lunch quickly approaching.

I spot her long braid standing at her locker, sifting through her books, and hope to get to her before one of her friends can.

She doesn't notice me for a moment and jumps a little when I tap her shoulder.

"Oh! Peeta," she says airily, "It's you...hi."

"H-h-hiKatniss_, _I'm s-s-sorr-"

"Don't apologize," she cuts me off, pulling a binder out from her locker. "What's going on?"

"I uh..." She probably hates me for talking to her in such a crowded hallway. Everyone who walks by can't help but stare and I'm sure I hear my name whispered on each of their lips.

"Could w-w-we...is there any c-c-c-chance..." I breathe out a frustrated sigh and look down at my feet. I'm too nervous to even get the words out stuttering. She probably wants to laugh at me.

To my surprise however, she stands patiently waiting for me to continue. Her eyes are locked to my own and there's no trace of annoyance or sarcasm in her look that I can pick up on.

"Yes?" she finally questions, a small smile on her lips.

"W-w-would you mind m-m-meeting up during uh...l-l-lunch-" I cut myself short, the request sounding even more ridiculous out loud. Why would she be willing to give up her lunch period to tutor me? It's not her problem I'm failing, or that I can't meet at the time we agreed, or any of that...

"Lunch?" she asks, pushing that same stubborn lock of hair back behind her ear. "Sure, that would work out fine. In the library?"

My eyes widen in her direction and for a second, I'm stunned silent.

"Really?" I ask, unsure if she's kidding or not.

"Really," she repeats, closing her locker door and turning the dial. "Sound good?"

"Y-Yes. I'm really s-s-s-sorry, it's just that I-I-I-"

"Peeta," she says, her voice so smooth and soft it makes me lose my train of thought.

"Y-y-yes?"

"Don't apologize," she reminds me. "I'll meet you in the library after I grab my lunch."

"O-o-okay."

"I'll break you of that habit if it kills me," she says. Her voice sounds like she's kidding, but she doesn't laugh so I'm not sure how to interpret her last words before she hikes her backpack up further on her shoulders and hurries to disappear in the center of the crowd.

* * *

Since I agreed to meet with Katniss after she grabbed her lunch, I have time to go and explain to Mags why I won't be able to sit with her for the period. She assures me it's absolutely fine and to study hard, and I promise her I won't make a habit of ditching her during lunch.

I'm still there before Katniss and as the minutes tick by, paranoia begins to set in. I can't help but wonder if she forgot about us meeting or decided to stay and eat with her friends.

_That's okay, _I remind myself before disappointment can set in. _She's doing me a favor; it's okay if she decides it's too much to take on. _

I distract myself by tearing my brown bag down the middle and grabbing the apple that rolls out. I've only finished about three bites before Katniss comes through the doors, balancing her tray in one hand and a couple school of books in the other.

"Hi," she sighs, plopping down in the chair across from me. "Sorry for making you wait, the line took forever today."

"It's o-o-okay. Not a problem a-a-at all."

She nods, before clearing her throat, "This arrangement works pretty well, actually."

"T-Thank you for sw-sw-switching."

"Not a problem at all," she smirks, mimicking my previous words. "So, I noticed you have a test coming up in Biology tomorrow. It's worth a good amount of points, so I was thinking we could review for that today."

"Okay s-s-sure Katniss."

We're silent as I begin shuffling through my bag, looking for the right binder and folder for Biology.

"Is...are you okay?" Katniss coughs, not meeting my eyes right away. It takes me a second to realize she's referring to my swollen cheek-_obviously-_and then, I downcast my own eyes.

"Y-Y-Yeah," I lie, shrugging my shoulders as if it's nothing. "I'm a l-l-little klutzy. Always have b-b-been."

She lets out a little _'ah' _and nods her head. She knows its bullshit, but either doesn't want to know anything more or respects my privacy too much to ask any further questions.

"Well, you'll have to be more careful. That looks painful."

I nod.

"How did it happen, if you don't mind me asking?"

_I do, actually, _my instincts are screaming inside my mind, but of course, nothing comes out of my mouth and my eyes widen embarrassingly. I've never been good at coming up with lies on the spot, and Katniss is not dumb enough to fall for _"I walked into a door." _

"You don't need to answer that," she speaks, sounding almost disappointed with herself for asking and waving her hand.

"N-n-no, it's okay," I say, running a hand over the back of my sweating neck. "I just t-t-tripped in the b-b-b-bakery. Lots of flour on the f-f-floor."

"I'm sorry that happened Peeta," she states slowly, her eyes boring into the top of my head. Her tone is flush with unspoken knowledge. Just as I thought, Katniss Everdeen is not an idiot, and she knows damn well I didn't slip on the bakery floor.

A small part of me wants to open up, to trust her, because she looks so _trustworthy..._but a bigger, smarter part of my brain locks up any thoughts of that before I have the chance to betray myself.

We change subjects almost immediately.

To Biology.

* * *

Katniss agrees to meet me three days a week in the library during lunch to have our session. I thank her about three more times before we head separate ways for our final classes of the day.

I really hate Thursdays. Mostly, because it's so close to being a Friday. Most the kids in school live for Fridays-eager to begin their weekends-but I'd much rather endure school than home.

My next three classes passed rather quickly, with just a test that took the entire period in Math, writing up another essay for gym and chalkboard notes in English.

In Culinary, we're making muffins. I breeze through the dry ingredients accidentally, not needing to look at a recipe at all. I pretend I'm still adding ingredients until a couple more students finish, so as not to draw attention to myself.

While the muffins cook, we watch a movie about the art of baking that lasts until the final bell rings.

"Grab a paper bag and load up your muffins, I don't want to keep them!" Our teacher instructs, handing out little baggies for home.

I drop the treats inside the bag and roll it up, exiting the classroom into the busy hallway.

Rye has wrestling practice after school today, so I'm on my own. I don't mind so much, without his constant talking and complaining it gives me time to admire the tall trees or flowers I pass on the way home, or just _think. _It's walking through the door alone I dread.

I don't dawdle at my locker today; eager to get home a little early so as to prove to Mother I'm not up to anything horrible.

It's getting warmer outside and soon I won't even need a sweater. The snow is completely melted and signs of spring have begun sprouting in every direction.

I'm about a third of the way home when I hear someone calling my name being called a couple paces behind me. Immediately, my body tenses out of instinct. Typically, when my name is being said, it's not for a good reason.

"Peeta!" It takes the voice calling my name twice for me to place it and turn around, in pure shock to see Katniss staring up at me.

"K-K-Katniss?" I blink, shoving my hands into my pants pockets nervously. "H-hi."

I internally kick myself for the embarrassing speech impediment. We can't even have a normal conversation because of how long it takes me to respond each time. I sigh heavily, kicking a pebble under my foot.

"Hi," she says, glancing around behind me. "Are you walking home alone?"

"Uh y-y-yeah, Rye has p-p-practice today."

"Oh," she says, nodding a little, "Yeah, I think he's on the same team as Gale, right? He had to stay after for practice today too."

"Y-Y-Yeah they are."

"Yeah, Gale usually walks home with my sister and I. We live in the same neighborhood."

_Convenient._

"Oh," I try to make my tone sound more light hearted, but it comes out heavy and laced with disappointment. Embarrassed, I jump to change the subject, "W-w-w-where is y-y-your sister?"

"Home sick today."

Our feet begin moving and she never tells me _not_ to walk along side her, so we walk down the streets together. Katniss is talking, but all I can focus on is the fact that she's here-right next to me-_walking_ with me.

There has to be a catch.

It becomes evident she's slowing her pace down significantly for me as she continues to accidentally pass me, realize it, and back up.

"Y-Y-You can keep g-g-going if you'd like. I-I-I'm kind of s-s-slow," I chuckle nervously.

"You're fine," Katniss assures, "There's nothing wrong with enjoying your walk home."

I remember the bag I clench in my hands and make Katniss jump when I lunge it forward toward her.

"Uh...they're uh...m-m-muffins. You can h-h-have them if you'd like."

"You don't want any?"

I shake my head, "I w-w-work at a bakery," I assure her and she smirks, digging one out and taking a curious bite.

"These are really good," she notes, her eyes widening a little, then she lets out a soft bell-like laugh, "Well, you _do_ work at a bakery."

I hold the bag out again for her and drop it into her hands.

She eyes me skeptically, "The whole thing?"

I nod, reassuring her it's alright. It's not like Mother would have let me keep them anyway. They would have ended up raccoon food in the garbage can.

Katniss thanks me and lets me know her sister loves muffins and will be happy to taste-test the batch in the bag.

She never mentions her Mother, though I know she lives with her.

Katniss's father died in a mine explosion a few years back. We were thirteen at the time and Katniss didn't come to school for nearly six weeks after. Everyone in class made her cards, but what do you say to the girl who just lost her father?

I kept brainstorming what I might want to say, but it all felt wrong. I didn't want her to skim over my card and toss it in the trash. I didn't know the first thing about Katniss Everdeen _personally, _so anything I could have said would most likely have sounded fake.

So instead, I found myself sketching her a picture. One of a long green field with bright flowers growing spastically along the long grass and tall trees in the background.

It wasn't until after our teacher mailed the cards out that I regretted my decision to not just make her a typical card. She probably thought it was weird.

Katniss waves goodbye to me as I walk up the steps leading to the bakery. The urge to walk her home is great, but I can't chance being late again and facing Mother's wrath. Especially if she's not feeling well.

When I open the door, the bell signaling someone's arrival rings out. Bannock is the only one in the bakery and wipes his hands on his apron before folding them tight across his chest.

"Hey there, Peet," he says, grabbing a pen and the inventory clipboard. He begins counting all the different items we have in stock through the large glass display case. "How was school today?"

"G-g-g-good."

"Good. Anymore trouble with that kid?"

"Huh?" By the time I realize he's referring to my face, I've already admitted to the lie. Bannock raises an eyebrow in my direction, then continues to count.

"O-o-oh _that. _Yeah, uh he-it w-w-w-was fine."

"Want to start decorating those cupcakes?" he changes the subject, pointing to the dozen on the cooling rack.

Apparently, Mother is still not feeling well. She must be rather ill to not show her face in the bakery at all throughout the day. Bannock tells me Father went to run some errands and get Mother medicine.

The bakery is silent except for the occasional customer who stays an average of a minute and a half. It's not so bad working in the quiet though, even relaxing.

Bannock has always been soft-spoken and I've always been afraid to speak too much. Rye is the one who's kept awkwardness at bay between our entire family; telling funny stories when the table grows quiet, rattling on about something during our long bakery hours or something along those lines.

Bannock doesn't leave until long after Rye and Father have both returned home and we're locking up for the night. Father makes Rye help with cleaning since he missed so much open-hour time with practice.

My leg has grown uncomfortable by the time I lay down in bed, looking up at the ceiling. There wasn't much to do in the bakery today, so mostly I just stood in place, which makes it ache more.

I detach the false limb and lean it against the wall with a sigh of relief and tenderly run my hands along the sensitive nub where my leg used to be so long ago.

It's ugly; there's no way around it. With my long pants and shoes, at a first glance it's hard to tell it's not real, but then you notice the way the material falls straight down, baggy with too much room, while the other side is fitted and normal.

I used to look in the mirror and pretend to imagine what I might look like if I still had both my legs. The image doesn't stick long. No sense in pretending something could happen when you know it absolutely won't.

I pull out the crinkled drawing Cato balled up in his hands today. I'm glad he didn't completely destroy the picture; I really don't like to waste my paper because it's so hard to come by.

I tape the edges that had ripped and attempt to smooth it out a little more. It's not so bad, definitely usable. I tuck it back into my sketching journal and decide maybe it's best I don't bring it to school anymore.

I'm quickly running out of places to sketch.

As I begin to doze off in bed, I start thinking back to the drawing I made for Katniss all those years ago, after her father's death.

I imagine her looking at it, and maybe even possibly _liking_ it. Images of smiling and laughing, talking about whatever she wants to and maybe even showing her more of my sketches pops to the front of my mind before I can force it back.

It's several minutes later before my fantasy is popped at the sound of Rye opening and closing the door roughly.

It's for the best. There's no sense in pretending something could happen when I know it absolutely won't.

"You better not snore tonight."

* * *

Thanks again for reading and all the reviews! Feel free to follow me on tumblr, details on my profile.

-Amelia Day


	6. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Thank you so much to fnur and misshoneywell for all their help on this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Five

* * *

With spring approaching rapidly, the sun has begun to rise much earlier and is shining radiantly through the window by six this morning. I give up on tossing and turning shortly after and climb out of bed, not surprised to find I'm the only one in the silent house who's awake.

After adjusting to the feel of my false leg, I decide to take advantage of this rarity and sneak to check on the bird feeders hidden around outside. I pull the tall bag of bird seed out from the shoe box I keep hidden in underneath my bed and tip-toe down the stairs and through the front door.

It's not that I'm not allowed to leave the house; Mother has even said she doesn't care where I go. It's mostly about _what_ I'm doing while I'm gone, and although I know feeding the birds that decide to nest around the side of our house is harmless, in her eyes it's time and money wasted.

The air smells fresh and it's one of the first mornings in months where the grass isn't laced with snow or frost. But, being the second week in April it was bound to happen soon.

After checking the feeders only to find them still nearly full, I pull the branch of the bush back, revealing the small birds nest.

I'm not surprised to see the eggs have cracked and in their place four small chirping birds. The mother blue jay is immediately protective, squawking angrily in my direction until I tuck the branch back the way I found it. Moments later she flies out from its confines and into a nearby tree, most likely searching for food to feed the babies.

I decide to quit while I'm ahead and make my way inside before the others wake. The bird seed has just been snuck back into its hiding spot under my bed when Rye stirs, rising with a grunt.

We exchange a look and lazily he announces he's going to take a piss.

I dress quickly, smooth out my bed head and am downstairs before Rye has opened the bathroom door.

I expect to find Father or even Bannock down in the bakery when I push the doors open and am surprised to see it's completely empty- curtains drawn shut tightly, open sign pointing inward and no morning preparations completed.

_Odd._

More often than not, Father is right on time, but every so often it's him who arrives late to the bakery. On my own initiative, I start by hauling one of the large bags of flour we easily get through in a day or so up from the basement.

Usually, this is Rye's job. Him being the "wrestler" he's delegated himself the tasks that require heavy lifting in case any of his friends happen to stop by. I usually just sweep.

I'm making my way up the steep stairs and nearly jump when I see Mother standing there quietly. She waits for me to pass her before following, her arms resting tightly across her middle and eyes watching me intently.

I'm setting the large bag down in the corner of the room when I notice the wooden pole of the broom in my peripheral vision and look up to see her standing above me. I take it from her hand and silently begin sweeping.

"You know you aren't supposed to be lifting around those flour bags," she mentions, her voice breaking the silence so suddenly I jump.

"I know," I mumble, "Just t-t-trying to h-help."

She snickers, a sound that almost sounds _genuine_ and catches me off guard.

"Always getting into trouble, just 'trying to help,'" she mimics my tone. "If you hurt your leg, all you'll be doing is _hurting _this family, so stick to the broom, yes?"

"Yes ma'am," I whisper quietly, head down.

"Your leg will always be an inconvenience to people, you know," her voice is casual, as she plays with her fingernails, refusing to even look at me. "You'll never be normal."

I swallow heavily.

"So avoidable," she shakes her head. "If only you had _listened."_

My mind immediately brings me back to that place- that night; with crackling thunder like tree limbs snapping and lightining which brightened the sky in unnerving ways.

"_We're just...leaving for a little while."_

"_There's no time, Peeta. I'll buckle you later."_

"_Sit down!"_

The spinning...so much spinning. _Not fun. _Not like a ride on the carousel or in the protective arms of someone.

_Spinning. _Slamming from side to side, into the seats, the door, the window.

Screaming.

Then the crash.

My mind snaps back into reality, spinning in a whirlwind just like I'm in the car, and I suddenly have the urge to puke.

I brace my hands on the countertop, and try not to focus on the small blue and purple dots that dance in the corner of my vision. Slowly, I let myself sink to the ground, and my hands curl around my pounding head.

_It was my fault. _

_The whole thing was because of me. _

I deserve this. Everything. I ruined_ everything. _

"But you know," she sniffs, grabbing hold of the accounting folders and pushing the swinging door open, "You hardly notice you're missing a leg. If you'd quit limping around."

Her voice sounds fuzzy and distant in comparison with my ragged breathing. My hands twist painfully into my scalp, pulling on the short hairs there.

"Get off your ass and sweep up the rest of this bakery."

It takes a few minutes for the room to quit spinning and for my head to feel like it's screwed on the right way, but I'm thankful that I'm on my feet before anyone else can enter the bakery. If they had seen me on the floor, they'd assume Mother had hit me and never would have believed me the one time she actually didn't.

Clarissa doesn't pop over this morning with Bannock. He says she's been feeling a little under the weather, that she thinks it's just spring allergies but he would rather she rest up.

When Rye and I leave for school, Bannock and Father have just opened up the bakery- nearly a half an hour late.

I don't know why they open so early anyway. It isn't like people are lining up at six forty-five for a loaf of bread or bakery treats. They could just as easily take their time and open around eight.

Spring seems to have appeared practically over night. Just a few days ago I needed a heavier sweater to keep from shivering, and today the long-sleeve shirt I wear seems like too much. It's not often I wear short sleeves though. Too much evidence.

Thick cotton ball clouds glide in the blue sky and a gentle breeze wafts through the air.

I see the first dandelion of spring.

* * *

For the most part, it seems the joy of spring has rubbed off on most the students. The atmosphere has lightened from its usually moody and dull self and even Cato doesn't bother me in class this morning, too busy flirting with Glimmer Orwell.

In Biology, the day ends with our teacher returning the grades for a test we took about a week and a half ago. My stomach flips uncomfortably and that urge to puke rises in me again as she crosses the room, placing papers face down on each desk.

Katniss has been questioning me about the test for the past couple days now and looks suspicious when I inform her we haven't received them back. I'm sure she thinks I'm hiding the bad grade from her.

_I hope it's a good grade. _I think to myself wishfully. I don't want to disappoint Katniss. She's the only person who seems to _not_ be disappointed in me on a regular basis.

It's not like I didn't study either. Katniss and I spent an entire session going over the material that'd be presented on the exam. I didn't stop there either, after I finished helping clear dinner dishes and my duties in the bakery, I rushed up to my room and reviewed the information a couple more times.

The paper floats down onto my desk and red ink has bled through faintly. It takes me a few minutes to gain enough courage to overturn the paper. I suck in a breath right as the bell rings and overturn it.

_75%-good job Peeta!_

I gape at the grade for a long moment, eyes wide and unbelieving. It's the best grade I've gotten of the semester. I know it's not good _enough- _I'll have to work much harder if I want to pass for the year- but it's a start. And, if I can get a C, maybe next time I could get a B and-

_I can't wait to show Katniss._

I tuck the paper inside my folder and then into my book bag, heading off to my next couple of classes before lunch.

I try, but fail miserably to focus as we conjugate verbs in Spanish. I see the teacher's pointer stick waving around the chalkboard rapidly and repeat the words she says back to her like everyone else, but I couldn't tell you what they meant.

My good leg is bouncing anxiously under my desk and I find myself checking the clock every few minutes, willing it to move faster. To be _over. _

Eventually it does end, as does art class. I'm putting away the watercolor paints I've been messing around with when I'm hit with an intense feeling of _giddiness _and oddly enough excitement that seems to have no place in my mind.

I can't figure out why I feel so happy, or ecstatic until I realize this must be because lunch has finally arrived and I'll get to show Katniss my passing grade.

In the time I know it usually takes Katniss to get her lunch and meet me up in the library, I stop by the home and careers center to pick up the nurse's office laundry. Mags looks surprised to see me, and pleasantly thanks me for saving her the trip.

"How is tutoring going?" she asks, cutting up her apple. "It's been a few weeks now. Getting into the groove?"

She's right, it's been about three weeks since Katniss started tutoring me. Time has gone faster than I expected, and with April nearly half over there's really only about seven or eight weeks until the school year is over.

My heart clenches uncomfortably at the thought. I'm so far from where I need to be...

"I-i-its going good," I nod my head, gripping the straps of my book bag harder. "My g-g-grades are r-r-raising a little."

"That's so good to hear," Mags nods her head in approval, grinning from ear to ear before glancing at her watch. "You shouldn't be late though."

She's right, Katniss should be showing up at the library close to any minute now. Mags thanks me once more for bringing the laundry to her and walks me out of the office.

The hallways are beginning to clear now and I've only taken a few steps before the bell rings. The library is on the second floor of the school and it takes me another three or so minutes to make my way up them.

I turn the corner and my heart sinks as I spot Cato and realize the luck I experienced this morning has run out. The hallways are empty, and he doesn't even have his group of friends or a flirtatious girl to keep him occupied. He's wearing the same arrogant smirk that usually paints his face and I notice his hands ball into fists.

_Face forward, keep walking._

My heart pounds uncomfortably in my chest and my breathing increases rapidly. I stuff my shaky hands inside my pant pockets and try to seem casual as we grow closer together.

"Hey, Mellark," he belts out. To the untrained ear, it might sound like he's greeting a friend, but I can sense the heavy sarcasm lacing his tone.

I train my eyes to the ground, but stiffen as I hear his steps draw closer. His body pushes into mine roughly, sending my unsteady feet falling into the wall of sturdy lockers to my left. The protruding handle on one of them jabs into my back uncomfortably.

I bite the inside of my lip until blood draws.

"Mama still giving you bruises?" he asks, pulling on the loose sleeves of the shirt I wear. I pull on the material roughly, balling my hands around the openings tightly. He runs his balled knuckles along the top of my scalp, letting out a hardy chuckle.

"I'd pay to see that shit," he smacks me on the back roughly once before continuing down the hall and disappearing on the stairs moments later.

I stay where I am, shoved up against the lockers, until I've calmed my breathing and my teeth stop gritting inside my mouth.

I can see the library from where I stand, and suspect Katniss is already inside, knowing she would have passed me by now if she wasn't.

Not wanting to stall and lose anymore of the short time already allotted for this, I quicken my step and turn into the library, immediately catching sight of Katniss sitting at our regular table, sipping on her water.

Slowly, the feelings of chagrin and anger begin to melt away and are replaced with the unknown tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach.

When I come into her view, she offers me a casual smile and waves politely. I try to replicate the expression, but I'm sure it comes off much stiffer and awkward.

"Hi Peeta," she greets, either ignoring or failing to bring up how I'm several minutes late and must look like a mess.

"Hi," I mumble in response, still trying to shake off my latest encounter with Cato. She eyes me questionably for a moment, perhaps trying to decipher the meaning behind my sour mood, but gives up after only a short moment.

"How did your morning go?" she wonders, biting into her apple.

"A-a-a-lright," I manage, "Yours?"

She shrugs, tugging on the sweater she wears as it falls off her shoulder. The braid she usually wears is twisted up today into a braided bun with loose pieces falling down in front of her ears.

Over the past couple of weeks, things have grown slightly more comfortable between the two of us. Neither of us talks more than what's needed, but there's a sense of relief I feel while in her presence.

To my knowledge, not many people know about the way Katniss and I spend our lunch period. I have no one to tell, and the way Katniss talks makes it seem like she's kept it quiet as well.

I don't blame her. Even if it is just a tutoring session, I'm still me and it's still a very unfortunate to spend your free time with a stuttering idiot.

She's not even getting paid for this.

We go over some vocabulary for a test we both have in English tomorrow for most of the period, and Katniss even makes me flashcards so I can practice at home tonight.

"Speaking of quizzes," she says, smirking slyly. "Any news for me today?"

I pull out my Biology folder and shakily reach in for the quiz she's been wanting to see for days now.

As I hold it in my hand, I start to feel like it's not good enough, that she'll be disappointed. Even though it's a personal best for me, a _75_ is practically failing in her eyes.

When her hand is about to grasp it, reflectively I pull it back closer to me. She stares at me blankly, blinking twice.

"I-I-I know it's not the b-b-b-best," I start, "But, I can d-d-do better."

"Can I see it?" she asks, her hand still outstretched.

When I can't think of any reasons not to let her see, besides my own self-pride, defeatedly, I sigh and hand the quiz over to her, tucking my hands awkwardly into one another and resting them on top of the white plastic table.

There's silence for a long moment as her eyes skim the page and then the corners of her lips curl into a smile.

"Peeta, this is really good," she says, sliding it back across the table. "There's always room for improvement, but look how much you've raised your grade in just a few weeks. Over twenty points."

I feel my cheeks reddening at her praise. It's so rare these words are spoken to me I'm not even sure how to respond. I run my hand over the paper below me and offer a timid smile.

"Are you proud of yourself? This is a big-" She's cut off by the jolt my body involuntarily gives as her hand lands on my wrist. Her shocked expression locks into mine for a long moment and she gasps quietly.

"Sorry," she apologizes quickly, retracting the hand like I'm made of fire. It feels like I am, the way my arm tingles at the loss of contact. My hand cups the spot where hers landed moments earlier.

"N-n-no, I'm s-s-sorry. I...I just-" I turn to look down at the pencil that rolls off to the side of the desk. It's not that I didn't like her touching me, which it would appear, it's just a knee jerk reaction.

Growing up, touching wasn't _a good _thing. If someone's hand squeezed your arm, it was because you were about to get it. But how do I explain that to Katniss?

She's wearing that odd mask of sympathy again, the one that makes it look like she knows more than she cares to let on. It reminds me of that day in the bakery, so long ago I doubt she remembers, when I was huddled on the ground and she watched me with curious eyes laced with hatred and sorrow.

"Peeta, I hope you know that if you ever want to talk about it-" she pauses for a long second, "What she does isn't right."

My head snaps up in her direction before I can stop myself.

"W-w-what?"

Her face glows red hot with realization of what she's just said.

"I'm sorry, I just thought-" for once, it's Katniss stumbling over her words, attempting to back track and make her messy words right.

My head is swimming with emotion. Cato's taunting words from less than an hour earlier, Mother's reminder this morning of the accident.

Now Katniss? _Not Katniss. _

"-You d-d-don't know what you're t-t-talking about," I say, my voice much sharper than I intend and head shaking. She watches me in shock, her eyebrows knitting together.

No one acknowledges what my Mother does to me besides _Cato. _And Katniss...I didn't ever want to have her compared to him in my mind. But it's there now, she's no better than him and I feel an overwhelming need to protect myself.

I can't trust _anyone._

"_Peeta," _she tries again, her voice an octave lower with explanation, "All I'm trying to say is if you ever need someone to talk to, I don't mind listening."

"W-w-why would I need s-s-s-someone to talk to?" I don't recognize the tone that's falling from my lips, but all the frustration and disappointment and fucking _hatred _I feel for myself comes pouring out in my words.

"Why does anyone?" she asks slowly, a baffled expression on her face. "Sometimes, it helps, just to get things out. You have to need someone to talk to."

"I-I-I don't n-n-n-need-" I cut off with a frustrated growl. _This_ is why I don't talk to people, I can't. It's impossible, because the more anxious I grow the more the words refuse to just..._spit out. _

"I-I-I need to g-go," I say and turn on my heels before she can stop me.

I can hear her calling for me, probably just as unsure as I am, how we've gone from zero to one-hundred miles an hour in such a short period of time, but don't dare stop.

My head is pounding and I can feel my vision growing blurry as I approach the bathroom, unsure of where else to go. I can't leave school early (nor would I want to), but how am I going to be able to focus on any of my classes after this? Or gain the courage to even leave the stall?

It shouldn't bother me as much as it does. Everyone knows what Mother does to me behind closed doors, why would I think this excludes Katniss? She's witnessed it first hand.

I just...I guess I just wished maybe she hadn't remembered, or cared. I just wanted one person to get to know me, not what they thought they knew about me.

Mother hits me because I make stupid mistakes. She hits me because I will _never_ stop owing that family for my burdens. I fully deserve what she does to me.

I watch as a singular tear escapes my eye and lands on my pants, staining them darker brown and ball up the exam, tossing it to the ground.

When the bell rings, I seriously consider skipping my next class, but the consequences that would most likely follow are what end up forcing me out of the stall.

I turn back after a few steps and retrieve the crumpled piece of paper, smoothing it out and jamming it back into my book bag.

I avoid Katniss for the rest of the day.

* * *

The sunny spring sky that started the day off has disappeared by this afternoon as thick rain clouds overcast it.

Rye asks me why I'm being such an asshole on the walk home. I don't respond but continue kicking the small pebble that I found about a block back.

"Whatever," he growls, tired of the silence and picks up his stride, leaving me behind.

I watch him storm off as the first droplets of rain come from the sky. A breeze picks up in the air, swaying the trees back and forth and knocking some of the newly formed leaves to the ground.

_What is wrong with me? Why am I such a fuck-up? _I can't help thinking as I kick the pebble off the curb.

Images of me storming out from the library, refusing to listen to what Katniss was saying, cutting her off like a jackass...

She was only trying to help.

Sorrow swells in my chest and anxiety pools shortly after. Katniss has done so many favors for me, and this is how she is repaid.

I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't show up in the library tomorrow. Why would she?

It's down pouring when I step past the bakery doors and Rye has already donned an apron and is kneading dough behind the counter. Bannock shoots me a questioning look as I shake out my damp hair, but I shrug him off and move past them both to the swinging door and tuck my book bag behind it.

I find my own apron and delve deep into work, happy for the silence the bakery provides.

The bipolar weather has done nothing to help my false leg, making it ache uncomfortably where the seam connects it, but I'm used to it. This time of year is usually the hardest.

It's around four o'clock when I hear the squeaky bakery door open from behind me and Rye call out mundanely.

"Welcome to the Mellark bak-_oh. _Hey, Katniss. How are you?"

My head snaps up at the familiar name and my body whirls to the front just in time to see him casually stroll closer to Katniss.

"I'm fine Rye, how are you?" she asks politely; a voice I've come to recognize as one she reserves for people she doesn't feel comfortable around.

"Oh, you know," he shrugs, leaning against the counter top, "Typical...bakery stuff."

She nods slowly, looking down into the display cases. She hasn't met my eyes once, or even acknowledged my presence.

"Anything I can help you find? I'd be happy to whip up something fresh for you."

Something about Rye's tone makes me wish I could punch him in the face. It's flirtatious and smooth, just like when any other girl waltzes through the door. Only it bothers me so much more now that it's Katniss he's speaking to this way...

"That won't be necessary," she comments, "My sister really likes your muffins. I think I'll just have one of those."

"Muffins?" Rye questions, his voice holding slight distaste, before he shakes it away. "Oh, sure. Which one would you like?"

"Hm...well, which is your favorite?"

Rye's body posture drops, "I don't make the muffins. That's uh..._Peeta's _job."

He jabs a finger in my direction and before he can even _think _about taking over, I dart toward the display case, going through all our flavors. She pretends to listen, nodding her head as if she's interested until Rye walks away out of boredom. She ends up picking a simple chocolate chip one.

I wrap up the pastry item before handing it to her awkwardly. The air is thick with tension between the two of us, but here is not the place to discuss what happened earlier. At least she knows that.

"Uh...um...t-t-two dollars and e-e-eighty-five c-c-cents."

She fishes for the money in the pocket for a minute before un-crinkling the wad of cash and handing it to me very distinctly. I notice a small piece of white paper on top and when I meet her eyes she nods for me to keep it.

Slyly, I tuck it into my pocket and hand her the change. She waves goodbye as if we'd never seen each other before and then disappears down the road.

I glance toward the door Rye disappeared through several times before pulling the note from my pocket. It's just a piece of notebook paper, torn off the page jaggedly.

_I'm sorry._

* * *

Thank you for all the reviews, follows and recommendations, I really appreciate all of them. Come follow me on tumblr if you'd like! Details on my profile.

-Amelia Day


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins. **

Thank you so much to misshoneywell and fnur for all their help on this chapter!

* * *

_I'm sorry._

Those words stick in my mind all night; throughout dinner while I sit quietly eating the leftover stew, clearing the dinner dishes, cleaning up the bakery-all I can think about is the note that is burning a hole in my pocket.

_Because why would she apologize to me? _My brain asks for the hundredth time tonight as I crash on top of my bed, near ten o'clock in the evening.

I yelled at her and stormed out of the tutoring session that she's doing for _me _yet she walked over in the rain, just to apologize?

_I'm an asshole, _I think to myself, slipping off my prosthetic and tilting it against the wall as normal.

The room is near silent, and through the door, down the hall I can hear Mother listening to the television; tucked away for the night. Rye is most likely lingering downstairs like he typically does. I'm not sure where Father goes or what he does before finally sneaking into the room late at night, hoping not to wake Mother up.

It's still raining, although it let up earlier this evening it's picked up full-force once again and is puttering against the window heavily. It rules out escaping to the rooftop to settle out my thoughts.

But that's alright, my leg is still achy from all the standing and changes in weather that climbing in and out of the window would have only made it worse.

I pull the note from my pocket and smooth it out of the ball it's formed. The torn edges have ripped slightly and are bent inward but the cursive letters still stand out on the page. I trace my fingers over the loop of the 'y' and feel an overwhelming urge to puke.

How am I going to face her tomorrow? Embarrassment and self loathing courses through my body and I feel a tightness welling in the pit of my chest, forcing me to abandon the note and take deep relaxing breaths.

I tuck it under my pillow and lay my head down over the top of it. I flip the switch to the light directly next to me and shut my eyes, willing my body to fall asleep. I know it's pointless but I lay there for another ten minutes, tossing and turning restlessly before giving up and switching the light back on.

I pull out a pad of paper and a pencil and for a long time, just stare at it. I'm not sure how long I'm sitting there motionless, but the steady current of rain has trickled down to just a few drops here and there by the time the pencil connects with the pad.

_Katniss,_

I begin and then flip my pencil to erase it...and then re-write it...erase it once more...and then re-write it.

The eraser that was barely existent to begin with has withered away to nothing and the metal that holds it in place scrapes unsettlingly against the paper.

_Katniss, _I try once more.

_I don't think I can apologize enough for the way I acted yesterday..._

I strum the pencil against my thigh for a minute, my tongue jutting out past my lips as I bite down on it hard, trying to think of the right words to say, how to for once express myself eloquently enough for her liking...

To get across that I'm a wreck and truly fucking sorry.

When I finish and am tucking the note into my Biology folder, it's mostly a collection of scribbles-with lines through the parts I wish I could have erased and the words not near what I wished them to be.

But Katniss will understand. She always does, that's why she came over to apologize in the first place.

I swallow thickly as I promise myself she'll understand a hundred more times. A large part of my subconscious fearing she _won't. _

The last thing I do before bed is pull out the novel we've been reading in English. Quietly, I clear my throat and stutter through the lines with pure frustration.

I want so badly to be normal.

But I just can't do it alone.

* * *

I awake abruptly when the alarm beside my bed begins buzzing insistently and the book I fell asleep reading falls to the ground with a thud.

I leave it there, still uneasy from the alarm that had been pounding in my ears. I grab my crutch as Rye continues to sleep through the ruckus beside me and hobble to the bathroom, needing to wash away the sweat from sleep.

My cheeks are flush and clammy when I glance at myself in the mirror. Even splashing cold water on myself does little to resolve the problem.

All I can think about is _her _and my stomach is twisting uncontrollably again. This can't be normal-or healthy-but then again, when have I ever been either of those things?

I climb into the bathtub and slide down until only my head bobs over the top of the water. The lukewarm temperature feels nice against my skin and I wish for a moment that I'd have time to enjoy it, but I've only got about twenty minutes until I need to be down in the bakery for the morning.

And then off to school. To see Katniss.

_Not to see Katniss, _I remind myself as I towel off. _That note was her way of breaking ties. Of saying goodbye. She's done. _

_But, I did write her a note, too_, I can't help but argue with myself. Surely that's something to be accounted for. Maybe her apology note was so we could get back on good terms, and mine will only make things better.

I try to stay optimistic, but there's a large gnawing part of me that feels this isn't the case.

I pull on my typical pair of slacks and a button-down shirt before heading for the bakery, where Rye and Bannock both have already dived into working.

Mother is nowhere to be seen, neither is Father, but I don't ask questions. Instead, I open the refrigerator and pull out large balls of dough that have been plastic-wrapped overnight, kneading them until they're warm under my palms.

Cutting the silence, Bannock mentions that Clarissa is still feeling under the weather and was physically ill this morning when she woke up.

"I told her she better stay home and rest a few more days," he explains yet again why she isn't here this morning to drink coffee with Mother.

"Mother must not be feeling well either," I mention, still no sign of her. "The room seemed quiet when I walked past it this morning."

"Well, you two should get going anyway," Bannock says, eyeing the clock. "I'll hold down the fort until Father wakes."

Without any more parting words, Rye and I grab our book bags and head out the bakery's front door.

"Clarissa is pregnant," Rye says, not twenty seconds past the house.

My head shoots up at his accusation and he snickers at what must be the ridiculous look on my face.

"What?" he shrugs, turning to face ahead. "I bet you anything she is."

"On w-w-what are you b-b-basing this?"

"Well, a couple nights ago, after _you bailed_ at the bakery, Bannock was wrapping up three packages of the sweet rolls. _Three packages."_

"S-so? Maybe it's f-f-for him."

Rye rolls his eyes, jabbing me in the ribs playfully. "Morning sickness?"

"Or r-r-regular."

He snorts unbelievingly and we're silent for a long moment before he adds, "So, you seemed pretty cozy there with Katniss."

The conversation has done a complete 180, and again Rye snickers at my shell-shocked expression. It feels like my body is on fire, the way my blood tingles under the surface of my skin.

"W-w-wha-"

"You like her?"

"No!"

"Oh man," he says, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Your first crush and you pick _Katniss fucking Everdeen?"_

"I-I-I don't-"

The more I deny it, the harder he continues laughing until he's red in the face and is forced to stop walking, bent over in half on the sidewalk.

"F-f-finished?" I ask when he finally reigns his breathing in.

"When did that even start?" he demands to know as we're approaching the school, talking a little loud for my liking.

"N-n-never, just s-s-stop," I hiss in his direction as we walk past the doors, my paranoia growing more and more bothersome.

Rye drops the conversation at the sight of one of his buddies and pushes past me to join them.

I debate whether or not I want to go scope out Katniss's locker to drop the note inside right now or not. On the one hand, the sooner she gets it the better, but typically she's standing in front of it with her own group of friends.

About a hundred awkward scenarios flash before my eyes and I decide to wait until after the bell rings to chance going down that particular hallway.

Rye and I are never extremely early to school, so it's not long before the hallways are cleared enough for me to casually make my way past Katniss's locker-number 451.

I slip the note through one of the grates of the locker and am in my first class just in time for the bell to ring.

Today, Mr. Templesmith tells us to get our textbooks out and turn them to the end of the unit all about President Abraham Lincoln. We're just reading out of the book and filling in a worksheet as we go. Mr. Templesmith calls on someone in the room to begin reading and tells each student to read a few paragraphs then call on a different student to continue. It's simple, but also dull and I find myself dozing in and out of reality; my mind heavily trained on thoughts of Katniss.

I try to imagine her face when she finds the note. Will she rip it up? No, she'll probably at least read it first. It doesn't mean she'll do anything about it, but at least she'll know.

I try to recall what I even ended up writing in that stupid note, but all I remember are the thick lines of scribbles and eraser marks. I'm sure it sounded stupid. Hopefully she'll see the pleading behind the words and ignore the senselessness of it all.

"Mellark."

I jump at the sound of my last name and suddenly all eyes are on me. I feel the heat radiating off my cheeks and chance a look up at Mr. Templesmith, who is staring in my direction, but his eyes pass me and land on the person behind me; _Cato._

"Mr. Mellark?" Mr. Templesmith asks, shocked and Cato snickers.

"Y-y-yes, if he can h-h-h-handle it." Cato stutters out, erupting the class into a round of awkward giggles.

I clear my throat two or three times as I try to make sense of the jumbled words on the page. The room has taken a liking to a fun house and feels as if it's tilting to the side, all eyes on me...

"T-t-the assassination of U-U-United States President A-a-a-abraham Lincoln t-t-took place A-a-april fourth, 1865 as the A-a-american C-c-c-civil War was drawing to a c-c-c-lose."

I feel a sheen sheet of sweat working up on my forehead and above my upper lip as a collective sigh rolls over the classroom. Mr. Templesmith stops me half way through the paragraph, as if it were planned and calls on another student to finish up.

Cato snickers happily behind me the rest of class, and I swear I can hear him whisper-stuttering to someone.

* * *

Between Rye's assumption of Katniss and I, the fear that Katniss would rip my letter up before my eyes, and Cato's stunt in U.S. History, it's not until fourth period Art that my face regains normal color.

We've finally moved past the point of drawing and painting bowls of fruit and inanimate objects and are transitioning into self portraits.

"You can use a photograph, or a mirror," we're told and around me cell phones are being pulled out, pictures being snapped and re-snapped.

I grab one of the small mirrors provided in the basket and some charcoals in different shades of gray before heading back to my stool. The corners of the mirror are chipped and smudged black and I can only really see part of my face in it at a time unless I take several steps back-too far from my canvas.

But, it's my only option. I don't have a phone, and my camera is at home. Plus, it'd take too long to print out, and I hate pictures of myself. They never turn out good. Not that I have many to compare...

I trace the basic outline of my head, neck and shoulders then begin working on the shading of my self-portrait's jaw. It's harder, using a mirror than a photo, because every time I turn my attention to the canvas, for even just a moment, I have to fight to re-find my positioning.

"Professional artists can paint themselves without ever turning away from the mirror," our teacher mentions when others start complaining about the difficulty of the task.

When the bell rings, I have the entire face and neck completed. I just need to finish the eyes and hair tomorrow morning and then work on touch ups.

I wish I could keep my art work, to use as a reference if anything else, or put together a real portfolio in case anything ever came up-not just scraps of old paper tucked away into a notebook.

Sadly, if Mother _ever_ saw any of these drawings, they'd only get ruined anyway, which I guess is more painful than throwing them out myself. The school has actually asked to keep a couple for display purposes, and I say yes even though it makes my skin feel itchy and hot just thinking about other students seeing my work.

No one comes down the art hallway anyway. Most kids don't even know I like drawing, but that's because for the most part I'm invisible.

It's not until I'm roaming the halls aimlessly that I realize lunch is for the next forty-five minutes and my chest tightens uncomfortably, my stomach launched in my windpipes.

_Don't be surprised if she doesn't show up, _I play on repeat in my mind as I nervously walk up to the library, curling and uncurling the top of my paper lunch bag.

I decide I will wait ten-no, fifteen-minutes at most before I swallow my pride and head back down for my typical lunch in the nurse's office with Mags. I can pull out a book from the shelf and make it seem like I'm just leisurely reading, not waiting on anyone in particular.

That way, at least it'll be a little less pathetic when she doesn't show up.

I've completed the plan of action in my mind, and completely mutilated my lunch bag when I turn the corner into the library and stop abruptly in the center of the room when I see Katniss already sitting at a table.

_Maybe she signed up to tutor someone else._

_Maybe there's no more room at her table anymore because they just assume she comes here._

_Maybe she's meeting someone else. She is not here for you._

_She can't be here for you..._

Her head is tilted down toward the table, the typical braid she sports is falling past her right shoulder, pencil running along the valley between her upper lip and nose.

I'm not sure what to do; approach her like nothing ever happened? Turn the other way and run again, like a coward? Sit somewhere else and assume she can't possibly be here for me?

I stare at her for a long moment in complete shock before swallowing heavily and slowly moving in her direction, my legs like cement.

"Hi, Peeta," she speaks without looking up from whatever she is reading. I feel the blush stinging the tips of my ears as I recognize the scribbles and words in front of her as my own.

She folds the letter in half and tucks it into her folder before looking up at me expectantly.

"Are you going to stand all day? Or would you like to sit down?"

"W-w-w-hy are you d-d-d-doi-"

"I realized something yesterday when you left," she says, tracing invisible patterns on the table top. "I don't know a thing about you."

I chance a glance at her face and find only warmth and comfort in her gaze. There is no sign of teasing, or questionable motives...not that I can see anyway.

I'm silent and she lets out a short laugh, as if something is pathetic.

"And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I _want_ to. That's why I apologized, Peeta. To fix things."

"Y-y-y-ou didn't have to," I swallow thickly, my hands shaking where they rest on my thighs under the table, "You d-d-d-didn't do anything."

"I pried. It was none of my business," she speaks matter-of-factly. "I just thought maybe we could be friends. I just wanted you to know, if you needed someone to talk to, you could trust me."

Her eyes finally meet my own as she sighs deeply.

"What?" she asks guardedly as I continue staring at her.

"Y-y-you want to be f-f-f-friends?" I stammer out, unable to believe her words. "With m-m-me?"

I've always known Katniss Everdeen to be a nice person; the fact that she's sitting here extending an invitation to listen and talk freely with me proves that. She's quiet for the most part, and people misinterpret that as her being "stuck-up" or "mean", but I knew better.

I just didn't know she was _this nice. _Because she could be friends-or _more- _with even Cato if she really wanted to. He sure does follow her, Gale and the rest of them around enough.

But she's not.

She wants to be _my _friend.

I suppress the urge to pinch myself and see if I'm sleeping or not.

"One thing about me: I never say something I don't mean," she informs me. "That way, people don't need to question if I'm being serious or not."

I blink.

"So yes, when I said I would like to be friends, I was serious."

"O-o-okay."

"I know you don't believe me yet, but you can trust me."

I want to trust her, more than I've ever wanted to anyone before. But there's a barrier somewhere inside my brain that keeps me from speaking the words, from giving her confirmation.

"I was thinking today, we could just focus on getting to know one another better."

Her eyes turn up to meet my gaze which I'm sure is blank as I stare at her with wide eyes.

"W-w-what do you want to k-k-know?" I ask shakily, my voice still laced with suspicion and self-consciousness.

"Well, I thought instead of asking each other questions, we could just share a few things about ourselves," her cheeks are growing red, her voice smaller and smaller with each word. It has little to do with lack of confidence, but more so because I'm probably staring at her like she has three heads right now.

"Like what?" I manage.

"What do you like to do for fun?" she suggests. Her voice shakes with the effort it takes to sound less formal. It's different than I'm used to and takes me back a little.

_What do I like to do? _

It's the kind of question I've only ever been asked on the first day of grade school, but even then it's not like the teachers really cared. Katniss Everdeen is the first person to look me in the eye and ask me what _I like to do._

And I don't know how to answer.

"You know," she fills the silence. "Like a hobby?"

I think about my drawings, and wonder if I should show her or not. It's not exactly a secret I draw...but it's different knowing something and seeing it.

I decide maybe my drawings are too private to bring up and flash to the only other thing I know how to do, and would call a "hobby."

"I l-l-l-like to b-bake," I speak with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Is that why you work so much for your parents?"

I nod.

"You're always there it seems."

"I-i-it's open six d-d-days a week," I respond, looking at the lines that trace the palm of my hand.

It's not until after I've responded that her words sink in and I realize her noticing I'm always there would require her _noticing. _My cheeks immediately feel hot against my skin.

"W-w-what about y-y-you?" I mutter, shaking my mind of the thoughts. She probably just said it...she couldn't have meant anything by it. She's not _noticing me._

"I like being outside," she comments, but of course I already know that. She's our school's archery champion. "Taking walks in the woods. It's a nice break from reality."

I think about how we have that in common-the wanting to escape. I almost say something to compare her walks to my trips up on the roof, but bite my tongue as her mouth opens again.

"I like riding my bike too."

"O-O-Outside is n-n-n-nice," I comment, wishing I had practiced harder on spitting my words out last night.

She nods. "Do you like to go bike riding? There's a really nice trail-"

I shake my head and she stops suddenly.

"I-I-I don't ride b-b-b-bikes."

"Oh," she says slowly. "Just prefer to walk?"

I shrug, hoping she'll drop the subject, but she waits.

"I-I-I just...d-d-don't know h-h-how."

It takes a minute for my words to sink in and her face turns pink, "Really?" she questions, and then shakes her head, "Sorry."

"It's okay."

It's not all because Mother never allowed me to have a bike of my own, or many play things really, it also had to do with my leg. It gives out so frequently, I'd be afraid of falling trying to balance on a bike with it.

But of course, I don't tell her any of this, and judging by the look on her face, she doesn't expect me to.

"My favorite color is green," she speaks, changing the subject.

"Mine is o-o-o-orange."

"You must love fall then. The way the trees change colors."

I nod, "S-s-summer too though. Nice l-l-l-_long _sunsets. That's the c-c-color orange I l-l-l-_like," _I finally spit out. It's one of the longer sentences I've ever spoken with Katniss-with anyone really.

"Sunset orange," she repeats. "It's beautiful."

I nod.

The bell rings a moment later and we pack up our things as the students around us disperse in separate directions.

"Thank you for the note, by the way," she says, throwing her last binder into the sling opening of her cross-body bag.

"I am s-s-s-sorry."

"I know," she frowns. "You always are."

* * *

Throughout my afternoon classes, all I can do is replay the scene from lunch in my head. Although Katniss and I have had several conversations throughout the extension of her tutoring me, they've never ventured to be that intimate before.

We're making pancakes in culinary today and it isn't until I smell the sour taste of burning that I realize mine are completely black on one side.

"Peeta, focus," the teacher calls out to me as I dump my batch into the trash can.

I pour more of the batter into the pan and start again, still dazed with the memory of her voice in my mind.

My heart clenches tightly in my chest and it feels like my stomach is fluttering. My hands actually shake with effort to keep steady as I flip over the flat cake.

Maybe Rye was right, because I've never felt this way before. This...intense feeling of giddiness and the warm tingles that shoot down my body with excitement.

The day ends right after I finish cleaning out my pan and wrapping up the pancakes to leave in the refrigerator here. Someone will eat them, I'm sure.

While packing up the books I'll need for tonight from my locker, I hear the familiar voice of Gale Hawthorne passing by.

He's chatting with a couple of his friends about the upcoming Prom, just about two weeks away.

"Well, why don't you ask Katniss?" one of his buddies suggest and my heart does a flip flop at the mention of her name. I strain my ears to hear the rest of the conversation, but there is too much going on in the hallway and they've strayed out of my hearing range.

I can't say I'm _surprised _Gale would think about asking Katniss to the prom. They've known each other for a long time, and it has been rumored on and off that they have more than a friendship for each other.

I try to ignore the sting of disappointment that floods my veins as I quicken my step to meet up with Rye, but I don't let it upset me too much...I can't.

Today was one of the best days I've ever had, and to think I thought it might end up being one of the worst. With the conversation of earlier still very much present in my mind, I can't help it when the corners of my lips twitch up just a little.

I have a friend.

_My very first friend._

* * *

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	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

Thank you so much to fnur and misshoneywell with all their help on this chapter.

* * *

The school is buzzing with talk of the Prom that'll take place here at the school's gymnasium tomorrow evening. It seems that everyone is going and even in the library as Katniss and I try to focus on the big English test I have coming up, it's impossible to ignore the chatter of the event.

It reminds me of the conversation I accidentally overheard a couple weeks ago, between Gale and his friend in the hallway. I never ended up asking Katniss if she accepted his invitation, because not only would the question be entirely misplaced, but she'd probably end up thinking I was extremely weird and we're such new friends, I can't risk losing it.

But it seems like too good an opportunity to pass now. A trio of girls have just nosily passed our table, giggling and chirping about hair and nails and other things said too fast for me to pick up on.

Katniss glances up from the paper we're supposed to be studying with a pair of annoyed eyes in the direction of the girls passing by and clicks her tongue.

"Are you g-g-going?" I whisper. "To the p-p-p-prom?"

"No," she answers immediately. "Are you?"

I feel my cheeks heating up; she must know the answer already. I shake my head in confirmation.

"Yeah," she agrees, sitting further back in her chair. "It just seems stupid to me. Getting all dressed up, spending all this money, just for one night."

She snorts in disgust, folding her arms across her middle. "Plus, there'd be no one to stay with Prim."

I don't mention that on a Saturday night her Mother would most likely be around because it seems so obvious that if that had been the case, she would have said something about it.

"Y-y-you must have b-b-b-broken a couple hearts," I suggest, unable to shake the feeling that Gale must have at least asked her.

_Someone must have asked her. _

"Nah," she shrugs, flicking her wrist in my direction. "Everyone knows not to waste their time on me. They know I wouldn't go."

My eyebrows furrow. Then what was Gale and that kid talking about?

"_Why don't you just ask Katniss?" _Those had been his words, right after the mention of prom.

"You look so surprised," she lets out a soft chortle. "Don't tell me you've thought of me as a party girl this whole time."

"N-n-n-no," I shake my head, "I just...well...I t-t-t-thought that you and G-G-Gale..."

Her nose scrunches up, creating two little wrinkles down the bridge of her nose between her eyeballs.

"Gale is one of my closest friends," she admits, twirling her pencil between her forefinger and thumb. "But, that's all he's ever been. If anything, we think of each other more as siblings."

I'm shocked by the feeling of relief that floods through me, similar to when Mother's door locks for the night or I experience one of her few and far between smiles. I can't quite place why the feeling overwhelms me, but it's all I can do to keep from smiling.

Katniss goes on to explain how Gale is going to the prom with another one of her good friends, Madge Undersee and who he's been playing a game of cat and mouse for the past several months.

That must have been what Gale's friend meant when he said just to ask Katniss, possibly about her friend Madge?

The conversation swerves from talk of prom to that of the vocabulary test I have coming up next Monday. We go through the flashcards until I have every definition logged in my memory bank and can repeat them back to Katniss. It takes longer than it should, with frequent breaking and sighs of annoyance from me, but Katniss assures me it's all right, to take a breath and try again until we've gotten through.

"You're going to ace your test, you know," she beams excitedly. The way her entire face lights up, from her curling lips to her wide eyes, it's as if the sun is only shining down on her.

I feel my neck grow warm with being caught staring.

"I h-h-hope," I say, twiddling my fingers. "I'm just a b-b-b-bad test t-t-t-taker."

She shakes her head in a reply. "You just need to remember to breathe and read everything over carefully. You've already proven you can pass your tests. You've done it before, Peeta."

She's right, of course. Since she began tutoring me, the lowest grade I've received was that seventy-six in Biology several weeks back, the highest being an eighty-nine, which I could hardly believe.

Students begin packing up their belongings and crowding by the door, a clear indicator that the period is just about to end. Katniss and I gather our things together too, but hang back at the table, away from the hustle of eager kids.

Katniss gives me the flashcards she made so I can study more on the weekend to prepare for Monday. I slip them into my folder, careful not to bend the edges and pack it away into my book bag right as the bell rings.

"So, do you have any plans for tomorrow? Since you're not going to Prom?" Katniss asks, holding the binder in her arms more tightly against her chest.

I shake my head in embarrassment. Typically, the only plans I carry out on Saturdays are working in the bakery in the morning and sketching or running errands in the afternoon, but she doesn't need to know all that.

"Oh, because I was thinking maybe you'd like to come over and study for your exam for a little while. Maybe stay for dinner?"

My eyes widen at the invitation and I'm silent for a long moment, waiting for her to say she's only kissing - _kidding. _She's only _kidding. _She's looking at me like I have six heads and it's then I realize I'm standing stone still in place near the book shelf.

"I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to," she says.

"N-n-no! I mean, uh," I pause, pushing my book bag higher on my shoulders. "I-I-I-I just have to a-a-a-ask permission, is all."

"Okay," she says and then leans down into the bag that drapes across her right side and tears off a piece of paper similar to the one she wrote the apology note on a few weeks ago. The pen that sits behind her ear is now scribbling madly on the jagged piece of paper before she hands it to me. It has seven numbers on it.

"Just let me know if you can make it or not."

"O-o-oh, okay. Uh, thank you, K-K-Katniss."

She smiles almost shyly, making my heart pound heavily in my chest and fingers twitch at my sides before waving a quick goodbye and disappearing down the hallway.

* * *

All I could think about for the remainder of the afternoon was Katniss's invitation to her house tomorrow. My heartbeat continued to speed up at the thought of spending time with her outside of our normal meeting place in the library, and not because she has to.

Katniss invited me over because, maybe, she _wants_ to see me.

"Why are you _smiling_ like that?"

I snap back into reality as Rye nudges me on the walk home from school his eyebrows knit in confusion at what I assume was my facial expression.

I mask it with a frown and brush the situation off as nothing, and since he really isn't that curious to begin with he lets it go with a shrug, chattering on about the Prom tomorrow.

He asked some girl a few weeks back that I vaguely remember him talking about and is now complaining about how much of his money he's had to spend on this upcoming _one_ night.

Which reminds me of Katniss.

"I don't _know_ what kind of fucking _flower_ she wants! Why can't she pick it out herself?" He asks, talking more to himself than to me.

I tag along behind him appearing to be nodding and listening, but really thinking about how I'm going to ask Mother if it's all right for me to spend the day with Katniss tomorrow.

_She won't mind _I tell myself yet another time as I put a fresh batch of what will be muffins in the oven.

My fingers are red and swollen from all the kneading and bending of the dough I've done today, caked with flour and dried up residue of cakes and breads. I wipe them against the white material of my apron and turn back to my station, eager to get finished up for the day.

It's nearing five o'clock, so dinner will be in about an hour and a half. Although I'm feeling rather courageous now that could all disappear at the flip of a hat when I see her in person. I picture her gaze, questioning and annoyed, only selecting the bits that she wants to hear.

I swallow thickly. This won't be as easy as I originally thought.

Once the bakery closes for the day, the three of us finish cleaning up and Bannock says goodbye, Rye and I set the table for dinner and Father pours stew into each of our round bowls.

I reheat up some of the bread that's too old to sell now and sparingly place some butter on each one and Rye pours water into each cup.

"Aileen?" Father calls Mother from the stairs. He mentioned as we set the table that she hasn't been feeling well all day. "It's time for dinner, will you be joining us?"

"Yes, I'll be right down," she calls calmly.

I think for a moment that perhaps she's on pain medication and might be feeling particularly generous tonight, which would make this the perfect opportunity to ask about tomorrow.

She makes her way down the steps slowly several minutes later and joins Rye, Father and I who sit at the table waiting.

Conversation is steady for a few minutes; Father talks about sales in the bakery and asks if either Rye or I would mind running a couple errands this weekend of things we need restocking in.

Mother kindly volunteers my services.

She asks Rye if he has everything together for the Prom tomorrow and he chatters on about that for several more minutes, before leaping directly into talk of wrestling.

I wait for the table to fall awkwardly silent, as it often does throughout the meal and then clear my throat awkwardly a few times.

"Are you choking or something?" Mother asks, her spoon clinking against the side of her bowl roughly in annoyance.

"Uh...um...no. I just w-w-wanted to ask um a question."

"Oh, you'd like to ask a question?" she repeats, amused. "Well? What is it?"

Everyone's eyes are on me; Father's silently begging me not to fuck up, Rye's wondering what the hell I'm thinking and Mother's menacingly waiting for me to say the wrong thing so she can pounce.

I suppose the medicine hasn't done much to sedate her after all.

I swallow, twisting my spoon around in the half finished bowl of stew, unable to meet any of their faces.

"I-I-I-" I clear my throat again. "I was invited t-t-to a friends h-h-house-"

"Friend," Mother snickered. "What _friend?" _

"Uh...um...K-K-Katniss Everdeen."

Rye chokes on the bite of his food, laughing almost uncontrollably. "_Katniss Everdeen?"_

Mother exchanges a look between Rye and myself, his red from laughter and mine from the embarrassment that's beginning to set in at the situation.

This was a bad idea, but it's too late to go back.

I bite the inside of my cheek and move my hands underneath the table to rest on top of my thighs where no one can see them shaking.

"Why does Katniss Everdeen want _you_ to come over? I mean no offense, but come on!" Rye scoffs, giving me a look that assures me he thinks I've been hallucinating or going insane.

"Peeta, I'm going to save you a lot of embarrassment right now by saying no," Mother says, her voice surprisingly calm. "I mean, the whole thing is probably some joke-"

"I-I-It's not, I p-p-promise-"

_Maybe, if I can just get her to believe it's a real invitation, I won't be such an embarrassment anymore. Maybe, if she'll just believe me this once, and she sees that someone else likes me, she'll start to like me too..._

"Peeta, what have I told you time and time again about _arguing? _Just shut your mouth and accept what I've said. The answer is no. No son of mine is going to be parading around the streets doing God knows what with who. Tomorrow you will work in the bakery. That is final."

"Okay," I whisper, defeated.

"Excuse me?"

"Yes ma'am," I correct myself and she turns back to her stew with a satisfied nod. I turn to mine as well, unable to meet anyone's face.

What I really want is to be excused, because now my stomach is twisted in so many knots that I feel getting food down is impossible, but I know escaping is not an option. So I'm silent.

"Where does your friend live?"

The voice comes from Father, who too is looking down at the food in front of his plate as he speaks, only looking up for a split second when he notices my confused glance.

"W-w-what?"

"Your friend, Katniss was it?"

I nod.

"Where does she live?"

"J-J-Just a few blocks down."

"And you'll be at her house?"

My eyebrows furrow in confusion but slowly I nod my head.

"I don't see any issue with you going over there tomorrow afternoon. You can work your shift in the morning and I'll take over for the afternoon."

Mother is holding her fork so tightly I'm afraid it might bend in half as she shoots a glare in Father's direction.

"Excuse me, Galen, but I think I just decided that Peeta will be staying home tomorrow," she says, fighting to keep her voice controlled.

"The only reason you're worried about him going out is because you didn't know where he would be or with. Well, now we know. With Katniss, at her house." Father's voice is so oddly pleasant, not controversial at all that it's hard for Mother to get too upset.

Still, I can see the anger rising in her red cheeks.

She turns to him unbelievingly. I can't help but match her expression. No one ever challenges Mother's authority or usurps her decisions.

"Galen..."

"There's nothing wrong with spending time with a friend, Aileen."

"Can't you see he's obviously making this whole thing up?" she asks him, her voice growing louder. "You heard Rye, there's no way in hell that that girl is inviting _him_ over to hang out. He's up to something, Galen, he's-"

"Aileen," Father spoke, his tone slightly deeper before turning his attention to me. "Peeta?"

"Y-y-y-es?"

"Do I have your word that you will be at Katniss Everdeen's house tomorrow afternoon?"

"I-I-I-If she'll still h-h-have me," I barely whisper.

"Let the boy go, Aileen," Father speaks, his voice on the edge of begging. "It'll give you a day to completely rest; get some peace and quiet."

Once Father has turned the tables to appeal to Mother her entire expression brightens and her face loses some of its dramatic wrinkles. She runs her fingers along the tip of her chin, thinking, for a long moment before turning in my direction stiffly.

"Alright, Peeta. I've decided you can go," she sniffs, and then pulls her chair out and stands. "But you need to be home by eight o'clock sharp."

I can't help the smile that starts to creep on my lips at the turn of events. Excitement about the upcoming day begins welling in my body and I could almost stand up and hug Mother for changing her mind.

Instead, I nod my slowly, stammering out a small; "T-t-t-thank you."

"Quit smiling," she scoffs and points to the table. "And clean up these dishes. I'm going to bed for the evening."

I wait until Mother is upstairs the familiar click of her lock sounds before thanking Father abundantly. He offers me a gentle smile and mumbles a quick response before heading up the stairs himself, placing a gentle hand on my back along the way.

It's nearing eight o'clock by the time Rye and I finish gathering and washing all the dishes from dinner and used in the bakery that day, and I dive into my pocket to fish out Katniss's number.

I notice Rye hanging around the kitchen, puttering around in the refrigerator while I dial Katniss's number into the phone.

The phone rings and I can hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I start to feel like maybe Mother was right; what if this was all some sort of confusing joke?

_I wouldn't be surprised, _Part of me whispers. _Rye's right, why would she want to hang out with me?_

_Katniss is different, _The other part of my mind reasoned. _If she didn't want to hang out with me, she wouldn't have invited me to begin with. She wouldn't play a prank on me._

There's no time left for me to bicker with myself because suddenly it's her voice that sounds at the other end of the telephone.

"Hello?"

I'm stunned silent.

"Hello?" she tries again and I shake myself out of the daze.

"Uh, yeah...h-h-h-hi Katniss."

"Oh, hi Peeta," I can almost hear the smile in her tone; picture her standing in her own kitchen, twisting the end of her braid in her finger tips. "How was your evening?"

"Good," I manage not to stutter out, despite my shaky voice. "I-I-I was just c-c-calling about tomorrow."

She waits for me to continue and I run a hand through my hair, shutting my eyes tightly and hoping that I don't mess this up.

"I can c-c-come, if you want me to s-s-still."

"Of course I do," she speaks honestly. "I'm glad you can make it. Want to say, around four o'clock?"

"O-o-okay, Katniss," I say, my tone matching her excited one. "Thanks a-a-again for the i-i-i-invitation."

"See you tomorrow, Peeta."

The phone clicks but I hold it pressed to my ear a second longer, biting my lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

"Bye."

* * *

In the morning, I wake up extra early - around the time I would on a typical school day - to ensure all my chores are finished in time to head over to Katniss's house at four.

_She had said four o'clock, right? _I ask myself as I fit my prosthetic to my leg a little too forcefully and wince. _Yes. Four._

No one is awake in the house when I start sweeping and moping the floors to the bakery. On Saturdays, we don't open until nine o'clock, where as it's nearly an hour and a half earlier during the weekdays. Father, Bannock and Rye are enjoying a peaceful morning of sleeping in.

But I'm far too wound up for sleeping and move on to clean the windows and glass of the front door once the floors have dried enough for me not to slip and slide around on.

It's too early to begin warming up and kneading the dough and if Mother catches me lifting flour up from downstairs, she might get so angry she'll decide to cancel my plans with Katniss. I remember back to the last time I took it upon myself to help out with Rye's chores of bringing the flour up from the basement and the conversation that followed.

_You will never stop being a burden._

If there's ever a time in my life to not get in trouble, it would be now. I need to make it through the day almost invisible so as not to awaken the monster inside of her.

By the time I finish with the windows, the sky is bright and sunny out with a new day and I can hear the floor above me creaking with their Father or Rye's footsteps.

I have just enough time to slip on my apron and begin kneading dough before Father emerges through the door, looking surprised to see me standing there.

"You're up early," he comments after a long moment of silence.

"J-j-j-just wanted to help out as much as I can. Before I leave this a-a-afternoon."

Father grunts, as if he'd forgotten and nods his head in understanding, checking over the registers for the morning.

"That's right, that's right. What time are you going over there?"

"Four."

"And you'll be home by eight, right? So your Mother doesn't get upset?"

"Yes s-s-sir."

The air sounds unnecessarily loud compared to the quietness of the bakery when no words follow and I feel myself searching for a way to tell Father I appreciate what he did last night. It's the first time, really, that he's ever stuck up for me. There were several instances where I had wished he would intervene, tell Mother to stop, but he never did.

I lost hope in everyone around me, my trust dissolving right along side of it. So last night, when he told Mother to let me go to Katniss's, something new flooded my veins.

And I felt a small pang of hope.

"Thank you," I murmur quietly in Father's direction, unable to meet his eyes. His body turns to face mine, as if he were trying to make sure he had heard me correctly.

"You're welcome. I think it'll be good for you."

"Yeah," I agree gently, kneading the dough more in my hands.

Saturday mornings pass quickly in the bakery, it being our biggest day for business. Bannock and I struggle to keep up with orders as Father takes them and Rye makes the special deliveries around town.

Around two in the afternoon, when the mad rush has ended, Father lets Rye and I both off the clock and he and Bannock close the bakery for lunch.

Bannock is surprised to learn I have plans today as well, and I hear him ask Father if I'm going to the prom tonight as well once I've pushed past the doors into the other room.

I don't stay to hear how the conversation ends.

* * *

I throw another one of my shirts to the ground in frustration.

I've been standing in my closet for a good half an hour trying to pick out something acceptable to wear to Katniss's house this evening. Everything I own is either too out dated, or raggedy or just..._old _to feel confident in.

A moment later I feel bad about tossing the perfectly good shirt on the ground and pick it up, placing it back on the hanger.

I decide on the old long-sleeved blue shirt that was passed down to me after Bannock and Rye finished with it. It's one in better condition, without any small holes or many frayed edges, mostly because Rye hadn't liked it.

Bannocks clothing that Rye didn't wear and was immediately passed down to me was always in better condition than the ones I got after Rye was finished with them.

"Dude, why are you trying so hard?" Rye asks, slipping into the room wearing only a towel and running a hand through his dripping hair. "You know she's fucking Hawthorne, right?"

An acute feeling of anger, and jealousy, was it? Runs through my body at the thought of Katniss and Gale being together in that way, or that Rye would say that regarding Katniss.

The insecure part of my mind begins to wonder if maybe Gale is telling people something different than what Katniss had told me yesterday. The more insecure part of me began to wonder if Katniss had lied...

I thought back to our conversation, how Katniss hadn't hesitated to assure me they were nothing more than friends, how he's had a thing for Madge Undersee for a while now and that they're going to the Prom together.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they were," Rye snorted, tugging up on the pair of pants he slips into.

"They're n-n-not," I reply icily, not even turning in his direction. "_Katniss _told me."

"Well excuse me," he snickered, smacking me on the back jokingly. "When did you and _Katniss_ become such good friends, anyway?"

I didn't trust Rye enough to tell him about the tutoring, not because I think he'll tell Mom purposefully - he'd never do that - but because he has a big mouth and things fall past it too much for my comfort.

"W-W-We have the same l-l-lunch period."

"And she sits with _you?"_

"We both g-g-go to the library for l-l-l-lunch," I state, ending the conversation in it's tracks as I exit the room and head off to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair.

I floss nervously for about five minutes before taking a deep breath and smiling into the mirror.

_I can do this._

* * *

But, I'm not so sure I can do this.

When I approach the address Katniss gave to me last night over the phone, I stand at the end of the short driveway for a long minute, nervous to proceed. Once I realize how ridiculous it is to be standing in her yard and that she might possibly even be watching, I move up the driveway to her front porch and knock timidly on the door.

Through the open window I can hear a television faintly in the background, but other than that the house is silent. I shift side to side on my feet before the door opens suddenly and sends me flying back.

Katniss pokes her head and offers me a smile and I try not to appear so flustered, smiling back.

"Hi, Peeta. Glad you found the house alright."

"H-H-H-Hi, Katniss," I smile, sticking my hands into my pockets.

"Well, come on in," she says, opening the door up wider and allowing me to slip in behind her.

Katniss's house smells like pinewood and the fresh air I can smell when I'm on top of the roof late at night. Immediately to the right of where the door is positioned, there's a small wooden table set up with a chair on each corner. Straight ahead is a small strip of kitchen and beyond that is where I assume the noise from the television is coming.

To the left of me is another door, most likely a closet and a little further down, a staircase.

Everything is neat and tidy in the Everdeen's house and although there isn't much space they've seemed to have found a place for everything to fit perfectly.

I glance down at the shoes, lined perfectly along the wall and wonder if she'll make me take mine off. I try to avoid having them off unless I'm at home. Sometimes people forget, or can't even tell, that my leg is fake when I'm wearing a shoe. I just hate to think her sister's first impression of me will be an awkward one.

"You can come on in, Peeta," Katniss mumbles through teeth gripped around a pencil. She fills a pot up with water and puts it on top of the oven.

"What are you making for dinner?"

A young girl, I assume to be Katniss's younger sister, Primrose, walks down the hallway, her small feet making heavy footsteps as she skips to the kitchen, sliding on the tiled floor with her socks.

"Mac n' cheese. Don't be rude, say hello."

"Hello," she smiles, eyeing me curiously, as if trying to remember me. "Are you staying for dinner?"

"Uh...um..."

"Of course he is Prim, that's why I invited him over."

"I don't understand. Why didn't you two just go to the prom _together?"_

A silence overtakes the room and suddenly my predicament about the shoes seems very interesting as I stare down at my feet. When I decide to chance a quick look in the sister's direction, Katniss is sending Prim a death glare.

"Neither of us wanted to go to the prom, Prim, that's why."

Prim bites her lip, looking so much like Katniss it's funny, and then scampers from the room.

"Sorry," she sighs exasperatedly. "You like mac n' cheese, right?"

I nod my head, forcing a smile. Katniss is starting to look at me oddly, standing in the corner by the door, so I finally just suck up my pride and slip the shoes from my feet.

The obvious _clanking_ of my false appendage is evident as soon as I step foot on the tiled floor of the kitchen.

Katniss glances down for a half a second and turns away quickly, her cheeks flaming red.

"Oh, um...I'm sorry. Is it more comfortable with your shoes...on?" Katniss struggles to get out, not even meeting my gaze. Self-consciousness begins to set in and I fight to hide my leg behind the counter top.

Surely she must have known about my leg, _everyone knows_, but after weeks of sitting under a table with shoes and long slacks to hide it, she must have forgotten about my issue.

I'm not sure how to respond, so I only shrug my shoulders and mumble out a quiet and broken 'doesn't matter.'

"Alright, doesn't matter to me either," she says with a forced smile, eager to change the subject as she clears her throat.

"I really wanted you to meet Prim," she says a minute later, putting a lid on top of the pot. She pauses for a long second before, "...Did you know she used to have a speech impediment?"

"N-n-no."

Katniss nods, "Yeah. Poor girl had so much to say but...just couldn't quite get it out."

"She s-s-s-speaks so w-w-well."

"Lots of patience on her end and practice. It's not impossible though, you know."

I can't help it when the corners of my lips turn up slightly. She matches the timid expression before tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and clearing a bunch of papers from the table.

"S-s-s-she's nice."

"She's something," Katniss snorts. "But I suppose I'll keep her."

Prim makes eye contact with me through the entryway to the kitchen that connects the dining room Katniss and I sit at and the living room where she is. I wave to her shyly and she smiles toothily.

I'd guess she's about thirteen or fourteen. Her hair is braided behind her head, just like Katniss's, except in two long braids that start at the top of her head and work their way down.

Primrose and Katniss look nothing alike at first glance. Prim with her bright blue eyes and blonde hair, Katniss's gray and deep brown. Katniss is much taller than her younger sister, and has more of a muscular build. Those these might be traits Prim will grow into as she ages, it's hard to imagine a time when Katniss didn't appear..._strong._

"But, I just thought, maybe if you met her, you wouldn't be so opposed to an idea I have."

I wait for her to continue nervously.

"I know that exams are coming up in a few weeks, and we should focus on getting you ready for those right now," she says to the table top, fiddling around with the bottom of her braid. "But, afterward, if you still wanted to get together a couple times a week..."

I stare at her dumbfounded and her eyes grow wider unknowingly.

"I mean, I just know that it seems to...frustrate you. We don't have to-"

"Y-y-y-you want to h-h-help me?"

Her expression softens at my broken words and she smiles gently.

"Of course I do."

"Why?"

The question catches her off guard and she blinks several times before mumbling, "Because we're friends."

My breath catches at her words and the shy smile that comes along with them and I feel like I've sucked in too much helium the way I get light headed.

"I like spending time with you, Peeta."

"I-I-I...I like spending t-t-t-time with you too, Katniss."

She grins, standing up from her spot at the table and crosses over into the kitchen to stir the pot of macaroni.

"And we don't always have to study. I was thinking, maybe tonight after dinner we could watch a movie or something?"

I can count on one hand how many movies I've seen in my life - besides the historical ones they make us watch in class - and the idea of watching one with Katniss, in her home is slightly thrilling.

I stand up from my spot at her table to help dish the mac and cheese into bowls.

"I'd like that."

* * *

Thank you for reading/ reviewing/ adding this to your favorites/alerts and all the sweet messages on tumblr.

As I'm sure most of you have heard about by now, there's been an Everlark event going on over at tumblr all week long called Prompts in Panem. If you haven't already, definitely check it out, there are a lot of incredible stories. If you'd like to read any of my one-shots for the event, visit my profile. They're all posted here on fanfiction.

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	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

A big thanks to fnur and misshoneywell for their help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Eight

* * *

After we finish dinner, Prim disappears to her room, chatting busily with someone on the telephone. I watch in amusement as she races up the stairs, her mouth moving so quickly she's hardly coherent.

But she pronounces everything with complete ease. No fumbling over words or growing frustrated, being unable to communicate.

I only hope it's not too late for me to learn to be like that.

"So, did you want to watch a movie?" Katniss asks, breaking me out of my inner thoughts and back to face her. She's standing in the doorway between the living room and kitchen, leaning up against the frame.

I nod in response and she stands up straighter.

"Okay. Um, the player down here isn't working right now, so we'll have to go up to my room, alright?"

I try to keep my eyes from widening in shock. I hope it's not obvious to Katniss that I've never been in a girl's house, let alone her bedroom.

"S-s-sure," I croak.

Katniss leads the way up the small staircase and down the poorly lit hallway. We pass by a room that is pitch black inside and Katniss shuts the door tightly. Her room is off to the left and when she turns on the light, it's completely organized.

There's not much in here, in fact it reminds me of my room a lot with the bare walls and plain bedspread. I never pictured Katniss as messy or knick-knacky, I just never figured I'd get to see what her life was like outside of tutoring, ever.

"Make yourself comfortable," Katniss says, motioning to her _bed. _I hesitate for a long moment before she jumps up on top of it, lying on her stomach and pats the spot next to her.

I walk over and sit on the very edge of her mattress, my feet and most my butt hanging off the end before Katniss eyes me curiously, color staining her cheeks.

"Oh, um, here...I can sit on the floor if you'd like. Sorry, this is all probably a little weird. My other friends are just used to this, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No, n-n-no. Don't move, it's a-a-alright," I promise, holding my hands up to stop her from sitting on the uncomfortable floor on my account.

She eyes me suspiciously, and to prove my point I sit more pointedly on her bed. As the movie goes on, and I grow increasingly more comfortable with the situation, I eventually slide into a position where I'm lying down like Katniss on my stomach. She takes note of this of course, and out of the corner of my eye I can see her smile just slightly - eyes still trained on the screen.

Our shoulders brush just slightly and the contact is unnerving, making my hands clench and unclench a few times. I have a strong urge to pull away, but after just moments of our skin touching through our clothing, I realize this kind of touch feels really _good._

It feels as if my skin is hotter in that one patch than anywhere else, and as she moves to gain a more comfortable position, she presses just slightly harder against me.

I swallow heavily; a strong, unfamiliar _want_ to kiss her taking over my thoughts. _Why? _I ask myself in complete shock, resisting the urge to think about her lips on mine, how nice it'd feel if more than our shoulders were pressed against one another, the sweet things she might say to me...

My face floods with discomfort and embarrassment as I feel a stirring in my lower region and slowly begin to grow hard against the mattress of her bed.

_Shoot! _

I shift, trying to adjust myself better but all I accomplish is creating a short, but delightful friction that makes my breath slightly shallow and stomach fill with what can only be described as "butterflies."

Katniss doesn't seem to notice - or pretends not to notice - the awkwardness of my predicament and keeps her eyes glued to the television screen.

I can only hope the movie is far from over.

* * *

It's almost seven thirty when the movie ends and I'm startled by the realization, needing to get going almost immediately.

Katniss doesn't pry but simply leads me down the now darker hallway and to the door. Self-consciously I pull my shoes over my foot and nub before straightening up and smiling gently in Katniss's direction.

"T-t-t-thank you for today," I say gently.

"I'm glad you were able to make it," she speaks, and her hand lands on my upper arm, giving it a soft squeeze before trailing down just slightly.

My stomach clenches and flips and I swallow heavily as the feelings from earlier begin to wash over my body once more.

"Goodnight, Peeta."

"G-g-g-goodnight, Katniss."

* * *

I slip through the front door right before eight o'clock in the evening and lock it shut behind me. The lights in the main room are shut off and I stumble through the darkness, down the hallway and into the kitchen where I find Father washing up dishes from their earlier meal.

"I-I-I'm home," I speak just loud enough for him to hear over the water.

He turns, forearms soaked with suds and casts a gentle smile in my direction and a nod of his head.

"Hope you had a good time."

"Y-y-yes sir."

"Have a good night, Peeta."

The house is quieter than normal without Rye around, and I suspect Mother is sleeping or watching the television behind her closed doors.

There's a note hanging on the front of my door when I approach my room and in big capital letters it reads:

**PEETA-**

**I hope you didn't expect to get away with not doing your chores just because you were out gallivanting today. It would be in your best interest to make sure the laundry is clean and folded by morning when I wake up.**

I gently peel the note from the door and fold the sticky side of the tape holding it there over before tucking it into my pocket, turning away from the comfort of my bedroom and back down the hall into the small laundry room.

There are four piles of clothing that lay separated, one for each of us and I start by piling in all the light items I can fit into the washing machine and turning the load onto _heavy. _

Once it gets going, there's nothing I can do but wait for it to finish so I fumble into my room, intent on completing the task once the buzzer goes off.

I pull out my pad of paper and pencils and try drawing while I wait, lying comfortably on top of my bed.

Every line I draw continues to twist and contort until the drawing begins to look a lot like Katniss. My pencil tip traces over the lines of her thin lips, the curve of her cheeks, her bright gray eyes...

She's all I can think about, and suddenly I'm not drawing anymore but staring at the picture intently, thinking back to earlier when we were sitting on her bed and our shoulders were touching.

The warmth that her body emitted, the electric currents that were running through my body and settling between my legs, I could feel all these things now as I sat on my bed.

And the way her hand lingered just a few seconds longer than normal on my arm while we were saying goodbye, her finger tips trailing my forearm gently.

I shiver, relishing in the moment before the familiar pulsing I felt earlier reappears and I glance down to see my pants lifting in a perfect tent.

I groan, running a hand through my hair in frustration, because I don't know why I'm feeling this way. I've never had these feelings before, _not really_ anyway. Of course there have been times when I've woke from a particularly nice dream to find a sticky mess, but never have I consciously caught myself thinking these thoughts.

For me, they're just illogical. No one has ever wanted me in that way before, and the intimacy and touch that came along with those thoughts is so foreign to me that it all seems too fairy-tale like for me.

Touch has never been a _good_ thing.

But the urge to do so now continues to grow stronger and stronger as I subconsciously think of Katniss's laugh, and smile, and that devilish hand running up and down my arm _so smoothly._

My hips buck up from the bed and I bite down on my lip _hard_ trying - and failing - to fight the temptation to give into something I know to be wrong.

I can't do _that_ while I think of Katniss.

_But I want to._

With one last thought of her hand on my arm, squeezing it gently I'm no longer able to_ not _think about what it might feel like if her hand was just a little further south, squeezing gently.

So when my shaking hand runs down my stomach to cover the bulge in my slacks, behind my closed eyelids, it's hers.

_Her small hands run teasingly up and over my rigid member, her lips twisted up into a perfect smile as her eyes stay focused on my own._

"_Do you like this, Peeta?" she asks, her voice smooth and flowing._

"_Very much," I say, stutter-free and am able to match her gentle smile before she unbuttons my pants and sends my head falling back onto the pillow._

My own head falls back as I lift my hips and ease my pants down just far enough to release my aching cock, which points up toward my face upon being set free. I hesitate for a moment and bite my lip, not exactly sure on how to continue, but when I shut my eyes, Katniss again takes over.

_She's lost her top while pulling my pants down and wears a simple black bra that hardly covers her beautiful skin. _

"_You can touch them, you know," she suggests, trailing her nimble fingers over the length of my arm and bringing her hand into my own, leading it to her perfectly round breasts. _

_I give her one soft squeeze before moving around the back of her body to unhook the contraption, able to gain a better look with it gone._

_I groan and Katniss brings a finger to my lips._

"_Quiet now," she whispers and I nod in agreement, shakily palming her gently, running my fingertips over her erect nipples and swirling over them. _

_It's her turn to bite her lip in order to keep quiet and her little hands trail down my chest, finding my jumpy erection and wrapping her hands around it steadily._

"_Oh Katniss, that feels so good," I moan, thrashing my head from side to side as her finger dances along the tip._

I shakily run my hand over the length of my dick, slowly so as not to startle myself or make the moment end too soon, but need is building up in the pit of my stomach and I find I'm unable to keep my slow pace for long.

"_I'll make you feel better," Katniss whispers, her head in line with my hips before her small tongue darts out and licks me from base to tip._

"Ugh!" I cry out, my voice muffled in my pillow as my hips jerk and spasm and white liquid spurts over my hand and stomach. My eyes roll to the back of my head as the feeling of euphoria washes over my body and slowly come down from my high.

I pull my face from the pillow and grab a couple of Kleenexes from the nightstand beside me. I feel an acute sense of embarrassment and shame at how easily I lost myself in the moment as I clean the substance from my skin.

Then regret washes over myself.

Because Katniss is the first purely good thing in my life. The first real person I've had feelings for.

"I-I-I'll just never d-d-o it again," I mumble to myself in a promise.

But as I lay back down in bed, utterly exhausted from the excitement of the day, I can't help but think that promise is easier said than done.

* * *

"You worthless piece of shit!"

I jump awake at the sound of screaming and the door slapping against the wall as it opens roughly. I hardly have time to cover my face before Mother throws the plastic basket at it and begins smacking me wherever she can.

"Who do you think you are, hmm?" She wonders, grabbing me by the roots of my hair and pulling me to a sitting position, shaking my head with each movement of her hand.

Rye groans from the other end of the room.

My eyes are wide as I look into Mother's furious ones, trying to decipher what could have possibly happened between last night and this very moment to upset her so much. Color drains from my face as I immediately wonder if she somehow caught me doing _that_ when I thought I was alone last night.

My brain catches up to speed and makes the connection with the basket she threw at me moments earlier and the task that went uncompleted last night.

The laundry.

She smacks my cheek hard, leaving it stinging and burning upon loss of contact and then pulls me from bed by my short hair.

I stumble to the ground, unable to walk without the help of my crutch or false leg and she takes the opportunity to kick my stomach, making me curl further into a ball.

"All I do is _give_ to you, Peeta Mellark, and this is how you repay me? You ungrateful brat! Get up."

"I-I-I-I-"

"_Get up," _she commands, her voice a menacing whisper.

I grip the bed with the arm that isn't curled around my stomach and try to use it as a support to get myself into a standing position. My leg shakes and wobbles holding all of my body's weight and I swallow heavily, looking up to meet her gaze.

"What have I told you before about using that leg as an excuse?"

"D-d-d-don't."

"That's right, don't do it. It's no one's fault but your own that you lost your leg, you remember that."

"Yes m-m-m-ma'am."

"_Say it."_

"I-I-It's my fault t-t-that I lost my l-l-leg."

"You have one minute to get your pathetic ass into the laundry room," she hisses before turning to the door and disappearing.

I stand still in complete shock for a long second, lip quivering in the effort it takes not to completely lose it. Not right now at least, with Rye just feet away.

My whole body is shaking as I attempt to reattach my fake limp, but it's an impossible task while I'm this worked up. I let out a soft whimper as I snag my skin on the metal.

Rye sits up in bed and runs his hands over his face before making his way over to me. To my surprise, he kneels down beside me and helps fasten the contraption to my body.

"T-t-thank you," I whisper and he shrugs it off, rising to his feet.

"Did you have fun with Katniss?" he asks with a yawn, avoiding the subject of what just happened.

I nod.

I can feel him staring at me even though my eyes are trained on my hands, lying limply in my lap. His hand lands on my shoulder and he gives it a reassuring pat.

"Don't let her ruin it then. Come on, I'll help you finish the laundry if you'd like."

"Y-y-y-you don't have t-t-to."

"Yeah, but it's not like I have anything else to do."

It's rare moments like these that help me remember Rye does care about me.

* * *

Shortly after Rye and I have begun the laundry, Mother comes in and conveniently needs Rye to help Father downstairs. Reluctantly, Rye drops the t-shirt in his hands and makes his way down the short hallway and steps.

Although I don't look over in her direction, I can feel Mother standing in the doorway after Rye is long gone. I continue to sift through light and dark clothing, hanging the wet and folding the dry into different baskets when I finally chance a glance her way.

She snorts, as if something - or someone - is pathetic and crosses her arms over her middle. Her eyes look tired and lost, with large dark bluish circles underneath them and lines of wrinkles in their corners.

Her hair is twisted up into a bun, a scarf wrapped around it like a headband.

She used to wear it down all the time and even let me play with it. I'd run my fingers through her soft brown tendrils during a particularly frightening thunderstorm, or nights I wasn't able to sleep and she'd come lie in bed with me.

But that was a long time ago, and the woman who used to be my mother disappeared with the crash. It's pointless dwelling on those days, because they are ones that will never be again.

"I try so hard to do nice things for you, Peeta," she begins, her voice almost gentle. "But, look how you repay me."

"I'm really s-s-sorry. I didn't m-m-m-mean to-"

"You never _mean_ to, Peeta, that's the trouble. You're just stupid enough to make these mistakes without trying. I don't think asking to get the laundry done after spending the _entire_ afternoon out is such a horrible thing to ask, do you?"

"N-n-no," I answer cautiously, watching as she slowly steps closer and closer with each word until she's standing directly in front of me.

Her nails sink into the back of my neck causing me to wince before I can hide it.

"You better _never_ ask to go over there again. Understand?"

I only nod.

* * *

When Monday morning comes and Rye and I are heading out the door for school, I breathe a large sigh of relief.

This morning couldn't have come soon enough.

_Six whole hours. _I find myself thinking over in my mind the remainder of the walk, Cato and his friends hardly a threat compared to the horrendous time Mother had given me all day yesterday.

She had me doing things around the house under her watchful eye all day, only stopping when she finally tired out around midnight or so and told me to get into bed.

Happily, I obliged.

But once my eyelids closed, and I immediately fell asleep, Katniss sprung forth in my unconscious state, refusing to leave my thoughts until I woke up.

_Hard._

And so, for the second time in thirty-two hours, I...relieved...myself of some pent up tension, only to regret it immediately after. I know what Rye would say if I had the guts to tell him about my little issue that's been pricking at my conscious.

"_You're a dude. Dudes jack off! It's natural." _

But I'm not like Rye, and to me it seems completely _unnatural _to set myself up for a guaranteed disappointment. And I know with each passing fantasy, that's exactly what I'm doing.

"How was the rest of your weekend?" Katniss asks, her voice sounding much more personal after our afternoon together. I wonder if she's thought about it half as much as I have within the last day.

I tell her how my Sunday was just _great_ and of course I was able to get some studying and relaxing time in. I try to make my words sound convincing, but the way she narrows her eyes just slightly before responding with a jumbled _that's great _has me thinking she's once again seen right through me.

She always does.

"I'm happy you came over, Peeta," she speaks, her eyes smiling although her lips are twisted up timidly.

"T-t-thanks for h-h-h-having me, Katniss."

"Of course. Maybe we can do it again this weekend, or somethin-"

"I don't t-t-think this weekend will w-w-w-work."

"Oh, okay."

"It's just t-t-that, I have t-t-things I need to get done. I...I c-c-can't come over." I mumble, Mother's threat hanging over my head from the day before.

"Okay," Katniss agrees easily, tucking a couple of her papers into her folder as students around us begin preparing for the bell. "Another time then."

I nod, dejectedly.

"But, just so you know, if it's too much trouble to get to my house in the future, I could come over to your place."

"No!" I cry out before I can bite back the words and Katniss's expression turns from hopeful to perplexed as she studies my flustered one.

The bell rings, as if on cue and I jump up from the table, eager to drop the topic of discussion.

"Peeta," she calls and I turn to her with one last look, desperation clear in my eyes.

"You just c-c-can't."

* * *

Long after the bakery has closed for the night, when dinner has been cleared from the table and Mother has retreated to her bedroom for the night, I sneak out the front door and off to the side of the house to check on my birds.

I bring my camera as well, eager to get a shot of the baby birds that were just eggs last I saw them.

My mind has floated to thoughts of Katniss throughout the day and how our conversation had turned south this afternoon after talk of coming to my house. She just didn't understand, how could she? Her...here...with Mother. It's a recipe for disaster.

To make up the awkwardness of earlier to her, I've decided to draw Katniss a picture, something I've never done for anyone before (besides her, years ago when her Father died.)

I think one of the babies will make her smile.

When I push the bush back, the nest is empty.

I knew they'd fly away soon, I just hadn't suspected it would be _this_ soon. I run my fingers over the empty nest, picking up one of the four eggshells left over.

I'm just about to replace the bush when I hear a soft and broken chirp from below my feet. I glance around in the grass, trying to gauge where the noise is coming from when I see a slightly blue figure fluttering, caught in the branches.

I look around, anticipating its mother will come to save it and bring it back to the flock. But there are no birds in sight, not even at the feeders. I poke my hand inside the bush and pull back quickly as the bird begins attempting to flap more fiercely, failing miserably.

Once it's calmed slightly, I untangle it from the mess of branches and cup it into my palms. I try letting it go to fly away, but the moment my hands go out from under it, the poor thing begins to fall helplessly.

I catch it again and run a soft finger over the top of it, its heart beating furiously inside its chest. It's then I notice its hurt wing, which is why it must have been left behind.

I wonder if the mother will be coming back looking for her lost baby and if I should return it to the nest...but the idea of the baby out here all by itself, injured seems like a bad one, so I tuck it under the warmth of my jacket.

"This w-w-will be o-o-our little secret," I whisper to it as I quickly make my way back inside.

* * *

Thank you so much to anyone who has read/reviewed or added this story to their alerts/favorites. Also, to everyone over on tumblr who continues to be so loving and supportive. If you have a tumblr, feel free to follow me! Details on my profile.


	10. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games Belong to Suzanne Collins.**

A huge thanks to fnur and misshoneywell for all their help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Nine

* * *

The school year I could hardly wait to end is finally coming to a close.

With tomorrow the last full day of classes (only exams to worry about afterwards), the school is buzzing with excitement, and there's not a single moment in the hallway where talk doesn't center around the much anticipated graduation of seniors, or vacation plans, or plans in general...

Everyone is looking forward to their extended breaks. Normally, I would have mixed feelings about this time of year; part of me thrilled to be away from the horrible school environment and the other part nervous for having no escape from home.

This year, unexpectedly, I'm just panicked... because these past couple of months haven't been _so _bad.

And the past couple of weeks have been pretty darn _good._

I was nervous at first; after I fled the library once again insisting to Katniss we could never hang out outside of school ever again. Because why would she even try beyond that point? She had offered me more than enough of her charity, and I continued to deny her time and time again. So, that next afternoon, when I casually passed by the library and saw her sitting inside, patiently waiting for me, my stomach knotted and twisted heavily in my stomach.

Because she's just so _nice. _

Since then, she hasn't mentioned hanging out outside of school. We continued to eat lunch in the company of one another, and when we passed by in the hallway she would smile and wave in my direction. Of course, every time it made my cheeks grow bright red and I'd duck my head, returning the short wave as butterflies soared through my stomach, which would in turn make her chuckle.

It was nice that things had regressed back to the way they were. That I could expect her comforting presence each day without the consistent pressure to hang out any more.

But that's not to say that I haven't _thought _about hanging out more than at lunch with her. Because I do. Every day I find my mind wandering to what it'd be like if we could see one another freely.

I think about her soft touch on my arm, how it both frightened and excited me, how maybe if we hung out more, those touches would only excite me and the fright would begin to dwindle away.

I'm knocked back into the reality with the piercing voice of our homeroom teacher, who announces the reason for leaving our ninth period classes early and meeting here at the end of the day instead.

"Report cards!" he belts out with forced excitement.

A collective groan rolls over the classroom, the cheerful atmosphere shifting with the mention of grades so close to our summer freedom.

"Oh come on, you guys know you won't want them tomorrow. All righty, when I call your name, come and get them!"

My heart stutters uncomfortably as he begins listing off names and one by one students rise to grab the small piece of paper that means _so much._

Well... at least it does to me.

Maybe if I can just bring home some good grades to show to Mother, she'll realize I'm not completely worthless or hopeless.

That is, _if_ I do well.

"Peeta Mellark."

My head snaps up at the sound of my name being called out, and I'm so nervous about what's inside the small envelope that I hardly notice the stares that whip in my direction at the sound of my name.

My chair screeches out from its spot tucked in closely to my desk and I rise slowly, walking cautiously over to the desk to retrieve the document. I take it from my teacher's waving hand but don't dare open it; I'm not sure I want to know what's inside.

I contemplate it for a long minute, long after everyone else has received theirs and continue to chatter on, either happy or annoyed about their final grades in each subject.

_Well, I have to open it. _I think to myself. _So really there's no point in stalling._

I glance at the clock; only about a minute left until we'll be dismissed for the afternoon. I hear the rustling of book bags as students begin hovering by the door, eager to be the first ones out of the classroom.

With hardly anyone standing around me, my decision becomes firm and I tear open the envelope and pull the small marbled paper out of it.

_Name: Peeta S. Mellark_

_Grade: Eleven_

Underneath are a couple more unimportant facts, like my student ID number and the principle's name but then in a highlighted box are my final grades.

_US History- 85_

_Spanish- 82_

_Studio Art- 97_

_Geometry- 81_

_Physical Education- 90_

_Culinary Arts- 98_

I skim through the subjects I knew to already be passing and nod my head happily, seeing the improvement between last quarter (where most the low eighties grades were high seventies) and this one. My heart stutters as I allow my eyes to drift to the two subjects Katniss has been desperately helping me in. The two I _need _to pass if I don't want to face Mother and inform her I'll either have to take summer school classes or repeat the eleventh grade.

With a deep breath, I remember Katniss's words; I need at least an eighty-nine in English and a eighty-four in Biology.

_English- 89.5_

_Biology- 87_

My eyes widen as I glance over the grades a final time, and then once more, because this can't be right. Not three months ago my English grade wasn't even in the fifty-percent range! How could it possibly be not _only_ an eighty-nine but _past _and eighty-nine!?

Before I can help myself, a wide grin spreads to my face and as the bell rings, I press the report card into my pocket.

_I have to find Katniss._

Part of me forces myself to realize that she won't care _that much_ but the other part of me insists that she will. After all, this has been her time spent as well, and she'll be eager to know her teaching abilities are definitely effective.

The hallways seem more busy and packed now that everyone rowdily moves through them, fighting to find their own friends and get to their lockers to flee the packed and boiling building. With no air conditioning, temperatures rise rather quickly in this small school and I can feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck and forehead.

I push a hand through it, not wanting to totally gross her out, and silently hope I don't smell bad. I don't _think _I smell bad, but that doesn't really mean anything.

I pass by her locker and immediately see the flash of a long brown braid. She seems to be alone, with her head facing directly into her locker and no one standing around her. I push through the small current of students and tap her back almost nervously.

She turns with a plastered frown that widens into a smile at the sight of me.

"Hey, I didn't know if I'd catch you this afternoon."

"Uh...y-yeah."

Suddenly, I'm extremely nervous again and begin to creep back down into my shell.

_Knock it off, _I chide myself. Over these past couple of weeks spent with Katniss we've definitely grown closer, and we can almost, _almost_ joke with one another. She tried the other day and I hadn't quite understood it, but later as I was in the bakery replaying her words, I realized she was only kidding.

And I laughed.

"How'd you do?" she asks with hope filling her tone. I'm momentarily mesmerized by the way she clamps her bottom lip between her teeth with nervousness.

Instead of sloppily trying to relay the message to her, I simply hand over the report card and tuck my hands into my pockets, shifting back and forth on my feet, anxiously waiting her reply.

Her eyebrows are knit in concentration as I watch her eyes flicker over the page, moving from side to side and further down until they stop, and seemingly brighten. Her lips pressed in a hard line twitch up on her face until she's smiling fully up at me, and they drop into a large 'o'.

"Peeta! This is wonderful!" she exclaims. "You passed!"

"I-I-I did!" I try to match her excited tone, which causes her to laugh.

Before I can fully register what's happened, Katniss flings her arms around my body and pulls me tightly into her. My eyes widen at the feeling of her arms wrapped around my own form... in the center of the hallway...

And slowly, instead of retracting immediately, I wrap my arms around her back.

The feeling is... different. I'm not so used to hugs, so much so that I can't even recall the last one I've been given. But her body feels warm against my own and I can feel her hands roaming over my back (she must not mind the sweat) as she holds me possibly tighter to her form.

She smells like outdoors, like woods and flowers and grass and I breathe it in, surprised when she still hasn't let go. I'm not sure if people are staring because I train my eyes on the locker in front of me for a long second before allowing my eyes to drift closed.

"I really want to see you again this summer," Katniss whispers close to my ear. Her tone is far from pleading, but there's something there, something that lets me know she's serious as she speaks and not simply just _saying it._

"I hope you change your mind about wanting to see me too," she says once more before pulling away from me. Her excited smile has turned to one of almost sadness as she shrugs. "I'm going to miss you is all. September is a long time away."

I know it is, but what I can I possibly say to make it better? The last thing I want to do is fill her with empty promises of visiting and having her over the summer, promises _I know cannot _be fulfilled. But assuring her September will pass in a flash won't do either.

_I hope you change your mind about wanting to see me too. _

She doesn't understand. I thought she might see through my fake excuses and stuttering answers, but apparently she hasn't. It's never been about me not wanting to see her, it's only ever been about my mother.

Because if it were up to me, I'd be at Katniss's house, on her bed, watching movies beside her every single day.

I run a hand through my hair and match her long breath before frowning, the only answer I can think of being so lame I almost say nothing at all.

But that's the only thing that would make this situation _worse._

"I-I-I'll miss you t-t-t-too."

* * *

Immediately after leaving Katniss's locker, I begin devising a plan that allows me to see her, at least a couple times over the summer. I start thinking that maybe Rye or Father might cover for me in the bakery on a day where Mother is feeling particularly ill and can't seem to get out of bed.

That would be tricky though because sometimes she calls specifically for me, to yell about the laundry, or bring her tea that is never hot enough, or _anything _else she needs. She calls for Rye and Father and even Bannock too, but it's obvious who her favorite to pick on is.

But maybe Father and Mother will go out at some point, like a date of some sort. They used to do that frequently, and now _if_ they go, it's a very rare occasion. I think about putting the bug in their ear, but that would only make me sound suspicious.

Plus, I'd rather not throw Father under the bus for my benefit.

"You're awfully quiet," Rye insists, snapping me out of my thinking process. I glance down to realize I've been kneading the same piece of dough for about ten minutes now. He glances down as well and sends me an almost knowing smirk.

"Thinking about your lady friend?"

"N-n-no!" I insist, and technically I _wasn't. _Yes, I was thinking of ways to persuade Mother to let me _see_ her, but most my thoughts were centered around Mother right now.

"And d-d-d-don't call her t-t-that."

"What? Your _lady friend."_

"S-s-stop, Rye," my eyes close in frustration, because it's so hard to appear _serious_ when you're stuttering madly over every. Single. Word. Uttered.

Damnit.

"Well alright, then what were you thinking about?"

I blush and he bursts into laughter, patting my back roughly, which leaves a solid white handprint on it from the flour. I brush it off and scowl in his direction, not quite trusting my voice.

"Dude, it's all right to think about girls," he insists, flipping our sign to read closed and locking up the bakery for the night. "I think it's cute. Little Peeta is finally growing up."

_Damnit._

I grumble incoherently under my breath, wrapping the extra dough up into plastic wrap and sticking it into the bakery's refrigerators.

"Just remember the little talk we had before though, about... " He stops and curls his hand into a semi-circle moving it forward and backwards above his hips with an arched eyebrow. "Helps keep things at bay."

Oh my _god._

* * *

After we finish up in the bakery, I immediately climb the stairs to go check on my small blue bird that's been hiding away in my bedroom for the past couple of weeks. So far, no one has noticed, but it's been quite a trial keeping the little thing hidden.

For one, I have to empty his home every day to keep the smell of feces or anything else from smelling up the room. I'm sure Rye wouldn't notice but Mother certainly would.

The good news is, it's a quiet little thing. Hardly ever makes a peep, which has me wondering if its vocal chords have somehow been injured as well. When it does manage to squeak, it's low and muted and could almost pass for coming from outside.

Rye has never been one to focus in on detail anyway, so the few night's I've heard it make noises by rustling around in the box or whistling, I stiffen but almost laugh to myself as Rye continues to snore.

After school I went outside to see if I could retrieve the actual bird's nest that the baby had fallen out from. In its box, I have a nice blanket, some grass and wood chips I found and plenty of bird seed. It's a _mess_ of a home, certainly not one you'd find at a pet store, but it's the best I can manage, especially with no one else seeing.

I wish I could do more for the small thing, then hold and pet it and feed it, but with no money and nowhere to take it, I'm sort of at a stand still here, hoping that maybe the bird can get better on its own.

I sigh deeply as I scoop the little guy up into my hands and place the nest I snatched down into his home.

"There you g-g-go," I whisper, nuzzling my face closer to its warm feathers. "This should h-h-help a little a-a-at least."

"What the hell is that?"

Just as I'm about to place the bird down into the nest, Rye sneaks up on me, making me practically jump out of my skin and drop him. Luckily, I don't lose balance all that badly and gently place it down inside, running my hand along the back of my neck nervously.

"Peeta, are you serious?"

He's speaking much too loud and I swear if Mother comes in here to find a bird... and she does something to it...

The thought is an unbearable one and I find myself on my feet, pressing Rye up against the wall with my hand cupped over his mouth. His eyes widen, as I feel my own do the same because I never realized I could _actually_ pin him to the wall.

"Shhh," I chide. "I-I-I can explain, just b-b-be quiet."

He grumbles something incoherent behind my hand cupped over his lips and I slowly remove my hand only for him to belt out, "What the _hell!?"_

"Shut u-u-up!" I grit out, smacking my hand over the top of his mouth again. He removes me suddenly, pushing back on me hard and sending me stumbling backwards a few steps before I catch my balance.

"Why?" he whispers, exaggeratedly. "Why is there a bird in my room?"

"I-i-i-it's hurt," I stumble, feeling nervousness creeping into my system, which makes talking near impossible. "I'm n-n-not gonna k-keep it forever j-j-just until its all b-b-better."

"Peeta..."

"Don't t-t-tell! Oh, p-p-please don't Rye. M-m-mother-"

"I'm not going to fucking tell Mother, are you insane? Who gives a fuck about the bird, she'd beat the pulp out of you!"

"I-I-I care about the b-b-bird," I insist. In fact, I would do almost anything to make sure it went unharmed. The image alone sends a shiver down my spine. "I-I-I care."

"You can't keep it forever. Fuck, how long have you had this thing?"

"Three w-w-weeks," I admit sheepishly and Rye sighs, pacing the room, muttering about how he could possibly go _three weeks_ without realizing there's a bird in the room.

"Look, that thing goes the minute it's better, do you understand?"

I nod fervently.

"And I don't want anything more to do with it."

"D-d-deal."

"A fucking _bird," _he grumbles, exiting the room. "Dinner's ready, Peet."

"H-h-h-hear that?" I grin in relief down at the small bird, which cuddles up inside the nest.

"You can s-s-stay."

* * *

It doesn't take long before the dinner table has grown silent, as always. Mother butters her roll silently as Father sips his glass of water and Rye destroys the slab of meat in front of him.

My food sits untouched, my leg bouncing nervously underneath the table as I think about a way to bring up my report card. It's the perfect moment now, when the table is silent, no one fighting for a topic of conversation, but I'm also nervous to unleash the silence and ensue chaos.

This situation could end very badly.

But I should just _ask. _That's what I did last time and it ended out fine. Mother had been reluctant, but in the end she did allow me the privilege of spending the day with Katniss. Plus, if I could just butter her up with a good report card, maybe she'll allow me this small piece of freedom.

After all, in just a few days I'll be seventeen.

I clear my throat, only once before I note all eyes turn in my direction.

"Not hungry?" Dad asks, eyebrows knit together as he notes the food that hasn't changed positions on my plate since the meal began.

"Uh n-n-no, I am...I j-just w-w-wanted to show you s-s-something," the words spill out fast and disheveled, but they're out there now and unable to be taken back.

Rye eyes me with nervousness, and I'm sure he thinks I've gone crazy and am about to reveal the bird or something, but as I dig into my pocket his stance seems to relax slightly.

"I g-g-got my r-r-report card t-t-today."

"Oh, pass it over here," Dad says, feigning excitement. Mother stops chewing the bite of roll she has in her mouth and her eyes lock with my own. I offer her a smile, but she only snorts and rolls her eyes.

She's been extremely quiet, which of course has me frightened and excited, because her silence can mean an array of things from anger to an uncharacteristically good mood.

I hand the paper over to Father who unfolds and smoothes it out before allow his eyes to wander.

"Let me see that," Mother snaps suddenly as Father's eyes widen with what appears to be _pride._

"Peeta, these grades... they're fantastic," Father points out, ignoring Mother's request. "You've improved a lot this last quarter."

I blush at his praise. Father is a shy man by nature, and even more so around his wife. Compliments are never handed out freely in my home, so his excitement is a large sign that he's pleased.

"Galen, _let me see it," _Mother seethes, snatching it from Father's extended hand. She eyes the grades over in her mind before turning back to me.

"Obviously, you cheated somehow."

My eyebrows rise in shock and immediately I begin shaking my head left and right.

"N-n-no, I didn't I-I-I promise! I-I-I wouldn't!"

"No one's grades are this drastically different. All right, how'd you do it? Confess."

"Aileen," Father says, his tone light but almost warning. "Peeta didn't _cheat."_

"There's no other explanation, Galen, the boy isn't _that_ smart... then again, these _are_ mediocre grades."

It was stupid of me to think she'd be happy with mid-eighties. My only grades that are above eighties are gym, culinary and art, none of which she'd be interested in.

I feel my neck growing red with embarrassment and wish I could rewind time to have never brought it up, but now that it's out there, I might as well embarrass myself more by asking about Katniss.

At least that way I can't say I didn't try. I _always _try.

"D-d-do you think t-t-that there's a-any chance I could s-s-s-see my f-f-friend this s-s-summer?" I'm twitching nervously in my seat, my hands twisting over the tablecloth and feet moving around on top of one another.

Everyone's heads snap up in my direction, but the first to speak is Mother, whose lip is curled up, eyes narrowing just slightly.

"I thought I told you never to ask me that again," she hisses. "Do you think I'm an idiot? That I'd forget in a couple of weeks?"

"No-"

"-You must since you're asking right now!" she's yelling now, her hands slam down on the table roughly and the small vein in the side of her neck jumps quickly with her pulse, visible under her translucent skin.

"I-I-I just thought-" I cut myself off, swallowing hard with a shrug, because what did I just think? That I'd flash some grades and get her to change her mind? Yes, and obviously that hadn't worked so I take the time to just shut up.

"I thought we already had this discussion," Father chimes in, and although his tone sounds confused, it's obvious he is agreeing with Mother and driving home the point of _never_ re-asking questions.

"We d-d-did," I grumble to my plate.

"Then what's the matter, Aileen?" Father questions, placing his fork down on the plate. "We've already told Peeta he can hang out with his friend."

"Yes, but that was _before_ he was put on punishment."

"Punishment? What did he do?"

"Better question is what _didn't _he do," Mother scoffs. "He _didn't _do the laundry, he _doesn't_ help to sufficiently clean up the bakery, that stupid bum leg of his always dragging along behind him..."

Father's lips are pressed into a tight line that open and close several times before he takes a deep, calming breath. He shifts his head in my direction, his next words obviously meant for me.

"You did very well in school this year, Peeta," he smiles and I take my first bite of food all night.

"Thank y-y-you."

"And I think it's great that you've made a friend you'd like to keep in touch with over the summer."

"Yeah, she's pretty cool," Rye chimes in, only to be swatted on the back of the head by Mother.

"Ow, what?" he groans, rubbing his sore skull. A look of hurt crosses his features, he's not used to being hit very often, and when he is they're only small swats.

He doesn't understand how lucky he is.

"Galen, I find it extremely rude that you are usurping my decisions. It's not very becoming at all," Mother frowns toward her husband, but he only turns his lips down at her as well.

"I'm not, Aileen, we both agreed just a couple weeks ago that it was alright for Peeta to spend time with his friend when he so wishes... as long as it doesn't interfere with the bakery, or his school work."

"Yes, but-"

"This is good for everyone, Aileen. Good for Peeta to get out of the house and good for _you_ for him to get out of the house."

I try to ignore the sting that settles in my chest at his last words, because I know he means them in my defense. It just hurts to know how badly she doesn't want me around.

"Oh... _fine," _she huffs. "But I mean it, this had better not affect your chores or mark my words there will be no more hanging around _"friends." _Sound fair?" she asks Father and he nods once, winking in my direction.

Mother turns to me with a sneering look and shakes her head in disgust. "Don't get too comfortable with the idea of people enjoying your company. It won't last long."

_Maybe not, _I think to myself, _but for right now, Katniss _does.

* * *

I'm so excited by the news of being able to hang out with Katniss as I please (and as long as it doesn't interfere with working or my chores) that I internally debate calling her that evening to let her know.

I don't want to end up creeping her out though, and that's what ultimately holds me back from making the telephone call. That, and knowing that it's not uncommon for Mother to listen into phone calls. The last thing I need is her saying something embarrassing about me and completely turning Katniss away.

Last night, sleep was difficult for me, waiting for today when I could finally inform Katniss about this summer. I just hope she wasn't saying those things only because she knew it wouldn't happen, or for sympathy.

_No, she meant it, _I tell myself over and over again as I walk to school, ten strides ahead of Rye.

"Hey wait up, jeez what's the rush?" he questions, before realization dawns on him and he smiles broadly. "_Oh, _you want to see _Katniss."_

I shake my head, too out of breath from the exertion (and slight discomfort of my false leg) to answer him properly. My breathing comes out in heavy pants, but I clutch my hands tighter around my book bag and carry on ahead as the sun begins to rise more steadily.

I _have_ to find her before lunch. I don't think I can wait that long.

Rye and I get to school with time to spare and he pats me on the back, quietly wishing me luck before turning to head in the opposite direction. I swallow heavily, my feet already walking in the direction of Katniss's locker before my brain can process what I plan to say.

I spot her immediately in the sea of students who bump and push one another while walking by; chatting loudly with friends and screaming to others they see down the way. It's a mad house here on the last day but I gently make my way through the current until I'm close enough to call out to Katniss so she'll hear me (and so I won't be extremely embarrassed).

"K-K-Katniss!"

Her head whips in my direction at the sound of her name, so quickly that her braid smacks her in the face. A blush creeps to her face as she palms the end of it bashfully before waving in my direction.

"Hi, Peeta, what's going on?"

"I-I-I have something I h-h-have to tell you."

"Okay," she smiles, and it's only then that I realize she's surrounded by her close-knit group of friends. Embarrassment washes through my form and I can feel myself shrinking back, apologizing silently to her with my eyes. I hope I haven't embarrassed her.

"What's up?" she asks once more, noticing my hesitation.

"I-I-I got p-permission... I mean, I-I-I-"

"Peeta, _deep breath," _she says, flattening her palms in the air and moving them down and out, taking a clearing breath with me. Someone runs into my shoulder, bumping me into the locker beside me, as if I hadn't even been standing there and Katniss frowns.

I run a hand over it thoughtfully before taking one more breath, completely calmed and able to talk clearly.

Or, _clearer._

"If you s-s-still wanted to, I-I-I think I can h-h-hang out t-this summer."

Her curious gaze brightens and her pursed lips turn up into a large grin as my words sink into the air.

"That's great to hear, Peeta," she says, her voice so enthusiastic I can't help but feeling excitement oozing through myself.

"I was hoping you'd change your mind," she admits, almost timidly.

"I-I-I've always wanted t-t-to," I promise her, trying desperately to explain myself. "I-I-It's just..."

"I know," she says, and it's in that moment she takes me completely by surprise by reaching forward and taking my hand in her own.

Gently, she gives it one light squeeze before letting it drop back to my side, burning from her touch.

"I know.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who reviewed and added this to their favorites so long ago! Sorry for the delay, as most of you know I've took a miniature break to focus on writing & finishing my newest story "With Eyes to Hear." Now that it's complete, my full attention is back to Eggshells and there will not be another month and a half break, promise! Thanks for sticking with me, everyone!

Tumblr URL changed, you can find me under the username: ivegotthesclaf if you have tumblr and would like to follow me. Details on my profile! :)


	11. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

A huge thanks to fnur and misshoneywell for all their help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Ten

* * *

"I think I'm dying."

Rye's sluggish body crashes against the countertop as he passes his forearm along the top of his head, clearing the beads of sweat that form there.

It's just about one week into summer when we break records, hitting the hottest day of the year. It's all over the news and inside the house Mother has demanded all the lights stay shut off to keep it cooler. In the small already boiling bakery, but we have to keep the tiny windows up front open for circulation.

"M-m-me too," I groan alongside him and he presses past me, working his way intently toward the freezer where he pulls out two ice packs. He places one against his head with a sigh of relief before tossing me the other. It's like a brick when it lands in my hands, but I hardly have time to dwell on my numbing hand as the coolness of the pack settles against my clammy skin.

My eyes drift closed at the feeling right as the oven beeps obnoxiously, signaling the bread being finished. As I pull out the newest loaves, the heat that comes pooling out is so intense it sends me into a coughing frenzy.

I'm doubled over, attempting to catch my breath when Rye pushes past me to grab the loaves before they can burn.

"Why is it so fucking hot out?" he grits angrily, tossing the bread from the pan right into the display baskets. "Damnit all, I hate summer."

Tomorrow is Rye's official graduation. It's also my birthday, but I haven't mentioned anything to anyone about it, because for the most part it's skipped over entirely. Sometimes, Father will pat me on the back and tell me 'Happy Birthday', which is nice, because who doesn't like the reminder that someone cares?

But that's all that ever comes of it, and this year, with it being such a special day for Rye, I'm _sure_ there will be no time for any other special celebrations.

It's all right. Turning seventeen isn't _that_ spectacular. I don't even really understand why people celebrate birthdays anyway...

It's just changing a number...

Of course, that's not to say if my family ever _were_ to throw me a party, I'd decline.

_Stop, _my brain says harshly, and immediately I oblige. I'm headed down a dangerous road, but am thankful I'm able to stop myself before I've gone too far.

"Peeta? Mind going down to the cellar and getting a new bag of sugar?" Rye asks lethargically. Technically, I'm not supposed to, and if Mother found out she would be very upset with me for disobeying her. But I look to my brother, who appears to be utterly worn out and nod my head in compliance, through the doors leading to the house before he can finish his thank you.

The further down in the cellar I get, the cooler the temperatures seem to be and I silently debate just hiding down here for a couple hours. _Technically, _I'm not on duty today. I just felt bad that Rye would have to be working in the bakery on this miserably hot day by himself.

Plus, it's not like I have anything else to be doing.

I heave the bag of sugar over my shoulder and regain my balance as I straighten my posture, gripping the railing for support as I take the stairs quickly, hoping Mother won't see. She's asleep anyway; I doubt she'd be down stairs.

After I catch my breath, I shut the basement door the exact way I found it and swing through the revolving one leading into the bakery, stopping mid-step at the sight before me.

Katniss stands facing me, her eyes downcast to the countertop in front of her as she plays with the loose pieces of her braid.

"What can I help you find?" Rye asks her, professionalism lacing his tone and as she looks up to answer him her eyes meet mine and her lips turn up into a smile.

"Already found it," she says and then gives me a gentle wave. My heart thumps rapidly inside my chest at her words and actions and the fact that she's even standing here _in the bakery _during summer time.

Her voice is somehow softer, almost dream-like as realization that she's talking _about me_ - wanting to find _me - _settles into my system. Her eyes turn harder and her soft smirk turns playful.

"I have a bone to pick with you."

"M-m-me?"

"Yes, you."

"Oh boy," Rye chuckles, taking the heavy sack of sugar from my arms. I look up at him confusedly as he begins pulling on the strings of my apron, but he only sighs, shaking his head as if I'm a hopeless case.

"You're not even technically supposed to be here today," he grumbles close to my ear. "See ya later."

"B-b-but, why?"

He rolls his eyes, motioning for me to get lost and with a lazy smile I follow his instructions, pulling the apron from off the top of my head and cautiously handing it over to him as he nods with approval.

Katniss glances up again when I move to stand in front of her and narrows her eyes almost suspiciously toward me.

"I-I...uh...you w-w-wanted to talk?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she says, folding her arms over one another. I glance down at them, then back to her eyes, then back to her folded arms. "I thought you changed your mind about wanting to hang out."

"I-I-I did. I mean, I a-a-always wanted t-t-to-"

"I've been waiting for you to call me," she mentions a minute later, intertwining her hands with one another.

My eyes widen with her words and immediately my hand darts to the back of my neck, an annoying habit I've developed over the years while I'm nervous.

"I...w-w-wasn't sure if it w-w-was too soon, or a-a-anything."

She shakes her head from left to right once before cocking an eyebrow, "Are you avoiding me?"

"N-n-no!"

_Never. _She's basically the only positive thing I've thought about all week.

And I've thought about her _a lot_ in this past week.

What she doesn't realize is I struggled internally back and forth with myself, debating whether or not to call her, not wanting to seem like a stalker, wanting to show the interest in keeping the friendship alive but not pester her.

It was both exhausting and humiliating. Finally, I came to the thought process that if she really wants to hang out, she will call. That way, I'm not annoying her and I can make sure she really, truly wants to see me.

Apparently, that was a stupid idea.

Her eyebrows are still raised in my general direction and a small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips. Rye pretends he can't hear us, whistling in the furthest corner of the bakery.

Katniss is still waiting for an answer, and Rye basically just told me to make myself free immediately, so I swallow hard and hold my arms open with a shrug.

"I-I-I'm free n-n-now."

* * *

It's still hot outside, but every now and then there's a very calming breeze that couldn't make its way through the bakery windows. Plus, I don't seem to mind the heat as much now that I'm walking around with Katniss.

We've been walking up and down the town's large loop for well over an hour now, and I'm shocked as our conversation never fully runs out. She tells me funny stories about her younger sister Prim, and when I laugh she looks at me like she's never seen me before. Her eyes grow wide and watchful and her lips press themselves into a tight, but reassuring smile.

It seems as if she's got me figured out, at least part way, but I don't think I'll ever be able to decipher her looks.

She pushes a long lock of sweaty hair behind her ear as we continue on, smiling. I would have loved to invite her inside for a glass of lemonade to cool down with, but of course my house can never be an option.

I don't want Katniss anywhere_ near _Mother.

Of course, we're going to have to talk about it sometime or another. Katniss will start to grow suspicious as to why I never, _ever_ have her over but she always seems to welcome me freely. Part of me thinks she gets it, and I know she'd never ask me why I don't let her come over, but it's still awkward.

I still feel like I'm hiding a huge part of who I am, and how can you possibly progress with someone if you're constantly holding back secrets?

I frown, because I want to tell her. I want to trust Katniss with everything more than ever, but just talking this walk with her is a huge step for me, and I'm fairly sure I'd have a panic attack if I tried to make it anything more today.

Without a word, Katniss slows her pace to match mine as my leg begins to trouble me. I'm not used to walking so much, and although I've tried ignoring the soreness, it's hard to ignore the way it continues to buckle with my careless steps, sending me tripping over myself every couple of minutes.

I do it again, and Katniss's hands reach out for me, but never touch me as I gain balance myself with red cheeks.

"S-s-sorry."

"Let's sit down for a little bit," she suggests, and before I can protest, before I can inform her that I'm _fine_ and _can_ do this, she's perched down under a shady tree nearby a trail.

"We've been walking so long, I was getting a little tired," she says. "Hope you don't mind taking a break?"

I sit down beside her, easing my false limb into a position in front of me, suppressing the urge to rub the tender flesh, but I don't want to call unneeded attention to it.

We're silent for a long minute, and I begin thinking back to her earlier words, back at the bakery when she thought I was avoiding her. Although, I couldn't tell if she was joking or not, I feel an overwhelming sense of guilt and need to assure her it had nothing to do with avoiding her, and everything to do with my mother.

Who I can't tell her about.

"K-K-Katniss?"

"Yes?" she asks, running her hands over the grass below her deftly.

"I just w-w-wanted you to k-k-know... the reason I d-d-didn't call is because, well, s-s-sometimes it's hard for me t-t-to get some p-p-privacy in my h-h-house," I stop for a second, growing frustrated with how long it takes me to get the words out and look up at her.

She nods, patiently, sensing that I'm not yet done and waiting patiently for me to continue on.

"I can't m-m-make many p-p-phone calls, is all."

"What's your work schedule?"

Her question throws me off guard and I stare at her perplexed and blinking for a long second.

"I...w-what?"

"Your work schedule," she continues on, "Do you have a set one?"

I nod.

"Which is?"

I tell her about my schedule, how I'm expected to be in the bakery Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and every other Saturday to help out throughout the day. Rye takes Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays.

"So you'll always be available... let's say, on a Tuesday, to hang out?"

I nod, still unsure of myself, and she matches the movement with her own head.

"Would it be easier for you, if I just stopped by the bakery?" she questions. "That way you don't have to go through the hassle of calling."

_It _would_ make things easier, _I think to myself. That way, I'd never have to worry about Mother overhearing or listening in on one of our conversations. Plus, Mother hardly ever comes into the bakery - _ever. _As far as safe meeting places go around my house, this would be the easiest.

"Y-y-yes," I answer with a fervent nod. "But I don't w-w-want you to have to w-w-walk over there a-a-all the time."

It's not very fair. I can't pick up a telephone to call her so she has to trek over to my place? She'll start regretting our friendship sooner than I imagined that way.

Katniss only scoffs in my direction, motioning her hand for me to knock it off.

"Oh stop, it's fine," she assures, before winking. "Plus, Prim loves your bakery's cookies. I'll even make a purchase so I'm not a loiterer or anything like that."

_The last thing I'm worried about is Katniss being a "loiterer."_

"But, you know, you're welcome to stop by my place anytime," she says casually. "Someone is usually home. If not me, then Prim."

I'm silent, dumbfounded by her invitation.

"You don't even have to call," she assures me. "Just pop on by sometime. It'll be fun."

I've never been invited to someone's house before. Not until Katniss had me over on Prom night, but now, the idea of casually coming and going from someone's house (and not just any someone but _Katniss) _has my mouth willing to drop open.

She laughs at what must be my hopeless expression and I feel my cheeks redden.

"You look so surprised."

"Well...uh...y-y-yeah," I answer lamely, blinking.

"Peeta, that's what friends _do. _They hang out whenever, no invitation needed."

There's that word again. _Friends. _It's enough to make my heart clench and I try to offer Katniss smile that isn't timid, but judging by the way my face still stings and I can feel my lips twitching, I must be quite a sight.

"I guess I f-f-forget."

"What? That friends hang out, or that we're friends?" she teases.

"B-b-b-both."

Her playful smile melts into a frown as she stares at me thoughtfully, pursing her lips. She breathes in and out of her nose heavily before running a hand over her still-sweating hair.

I hardly notice the throbbing in my leg while looking at her. She's stunning; easily the most beautiful girl I've ever met.

Inside and out.

"You know something else about friends?" Katniss questions after a long minute. "They're honest with one another. So don't ever be afraid to tell me something, all right Peeta? That's why I'm here. You're never stupid or annoying for asking a question or telling me something."

I swallow deeply with her intense words as she continues to explain _friendship_ to me. I guess it's needed, I don't know the first thing about true friendship. I don't know what's acceptable or not, or how to act... what's telling too much and what's too little.

It's all very frustrating.

But I have a _very good_ friend.

I stare at her as she grows silent, internally wondering if she truly meant it when she said we should be honest with one another, and that no question was a stupid one. She looks at me, pausing, as if sensing my inner debate before I breathe out a heavy sigh and run a hand over the top of my knee cap.

"Where you s-s-serious when you said y-y-y-you'd help m-m-me?" I question, my voice hardly audible. She leans in closer, listening intently to my words.

"W-w-w-with... the stuttering?" I manage, as if she really needs anymore explanation. I roll my eyes at my own stupidity, but Katniss only nods her head fervently, her eyes widening with disbelief, as if she's surprised I'd even ask.

"Of course I was serious, Peeta," she promises, her head still nodding twice more. "As long as you're comfortable with it, that is."

"I-I-I'm comfortable with y-y-you," I mutter, and return the slow smile that appears on her lips. Slowly, her hand tracing the grass below us lands on top of my own and her fingers curl over the top of it. I glance down at our two hands entwined just as she gives it a gentle squeeze, like that last day of school when I was so anxious to tell her I could visit with her over the summer.

"Well that's good to hear," she laughs lightly, running her other hand over the bottom of her long braid. "Because otherwise that'd make for very awkward play dates."

I blush at how long it takes my mind to focus after she utters the word "dates."

I'm stunned silent, and she laughs once more before jumping to her feet, asking if I'm ready to keep going. My leg is still a little tender, and the rubbing that'll surely ensue from walking more is not something I'm looking forward to. Still, I stand quickly and dust the dirt from my pants with a gentle nod.

"I heard a rumor," Katniss mentions as we head down to the side walk side by side. My heart plummets down into my stomach as I swallow hard with her words, racking my mind for what she possibly could have heard. It must be about me if she's bringing it up.

"Do you have any idea what it might be?"

Slowly, I shake my head from left to right, fiddling with the bottom of my shirt as she looks to me with disbelief.

"Your birthday is coming up."

* * *

Katniss wastes no time bringing me back to her place, where she insists I'll eat dinner this evening with Primrose and herself. I make sure to tell her _several times_ that it's really all right, but then she turns to me all offended and says if I don't _want_ to stay I certainly don't _have_ to.

I definitely notice the winning smile that dances on her lips as I stare blankly at her, no longer fighting it.

"I hope you like baked potatoes," Katniss mentions, forking three of them before sticking them on top of a tray.

After shifting on my feet for a long moment, I awkwardly lower myself into one of their dining room chairs beside Primrose.

"Yum!" she chimes out, though her eyes never leave the piece of paper that sits in front of her. She has a pencil in her hand and taps it rhythmically against the table as her lips scrunch up to the side of her face.

I don't _mean_ to be nosey, but I happen to notice the outline of a person traced on the page below her. There are tons of eraser marks to accompany the piece and I notice her tongue stick out as she attempts to draw eyeballs.

"Damn," she grumbles, glancing up in my direction once and then quickly twice, blood rushing to her cheeks as she notices me staring.

"Oh uh...I'm just drawing," she chuckles almost self consciously. "I think I want to take studio art next year, so I've just been practicing is all."

I'm silent, unsure of how to answer her, or what to say. I'd love to take a closer look at her drawing, but I'm not sure if asking would be over stepping any boundaries that are put up against us.

"Well, don't just stare," she frowns, pushing the paper away from me and it's my turn to blush.

"Prim," Katniss chides from the kitchen, her eyes widening as Prim looks to her. "Don't be rude."

"I'm not," she insists. "I'm just saying..."

"I l-l-l-like it," I manage, and as I speak both girls' heads snap in my direction. Prim's ever-present frown turns up into a large toothy grin that reminds me so much of her sister, who's diverted her attention back to the potatoes.

"Really?"

I nod.

"I took s-s-s-studio art last y-y-year," I try conversing with her, but already my ears begin to sting as embarrassment of my social skills sets in.

Either Prim doesn't mind, or she doesn't say anything because she scoots her chair closer to mine and practically jabs the pencil and paper in my direction.

"Really?" she asks for a second time, her voice a pitch higher and enthusiasm seeming to grow. I nod, trying to swallow the small bit of saliva I have left in my throat.

"Y-y-yes."

"Are you good?"

I shrug and she chuckles.

"Show me something."

"Like w-w-what?"

"I don't know," she snorts. "Finish this person for me. Man, I stink at people."

"It t-t-takes lots of p-p-practice," I mention and her eyes look deeper than usual as they meet mine with a gentle nod.

"Well, can you at least show me how to do the eyes? Mine are always too big or too small or too lopsided."

I trace the pencil over the page for a long second before running the eraser over the spot where she's obviously attempted eyes several times before. There are dark smudges and marks embedded into the paper, so I move up to the corner, free from any marks and begin tracing the slight oval shape of an eyeball.

Prim scoots her chair closer to me, and although I try ignoring it, it's very apparent in my mind that I have an audience that I am unused to. I try to ignore her presence though and focus on the shading and detailing of the object until it's finally completed into a successful (or at least partly successful) eyeball.

"Oh my god, how did you do this?" Prim gasps in shock, stealing the paper immediately to examine it closer. I shrug, embarrassedly looking down at the wood of the table, sneaking peeks of her ogling the drawing from the corner of my eye.

"This is so good, Peeta."

"T-t-thank you," I whisper just as Katniss sets down the meal in front of us. She pulls a seat out and asks Prim to put her things away for dinner.

"Quit embarrassing Peeta," she teases. "He'll never want to come back."

"I-I-It'll take a little more than t-t-that."

* * *

"Are you ever going to stop smiling?"

I turn to Rye just as he pulls the covers over the lower half of his body, adjusting himself comfortably on his bed. He watches me as I unscrew the prosthetic from my leg and ease myself onto my own mattress, flicking the light off a moment later.

"Probably not," he answers his own question, but I can hear the amusement in his tone.

I didn't leave Katniss's until ten minutes to eight, having gotten so caught up in just _being_ there that I completely neglected the time. Luckily, Mother was already upstairs with her bedroom door locked when I returned home. I'm not sure if the eight o'clock rule still applies as my curfew, but I'd rather not find out the hard way if it can be avoided.

I lie in bed, thinking about my evening with Katniss. How after we finished our potatoes, I sat there with Prim for another hour teaching her how to draw eyeballs and noses; the two things she seemed to be struggling with the most. After I showed her my favorite techniques she scuttled off to her room rather quickly to continue practicing, leaving Katniss and I to our own devices.

And we had our very first speech lesson... or, at least, _I think_ that's what we did. Katniss never officially said, but as we sat there in silence (the room had grown much quieter since her sister fled) Katniss began questioning me. When I'd go to answer her questions, she'd hold up her hand to stop me, nicely of course and very gently asking me to repeat a word that gave me trouble, or slowly saying it with me until I said it stutter free.

It's hard, because I don't tend to stutter on the same words each time, but rather it depends on the sentence, the length, who I'm speaking with, what the subject is about...

I sigh, tucking my arms under the blanket and curling onto my side comfortably, before remembering I haven't exactly thanked Rye yet for today. I know I wasn't supposed to be working this afternoon with him, but I had volunteered to help him out, and then completely abandoned him.

"T-t-thanks, Rye," I mutter out with a tired yawn. He inherits my yawn loudly before I hear him rustle on top of his own squeaky mattress.

"No problem, Peet," he grumbles. "Don't say I never did nothing for you."

* * *

I wake mid-morning not to the sound of my usual alarm clock, which I must have forgotten to set, but to the sound of a large crash from downstairs. It startles me into an upright position in my bed and has me frantically searching the room for a minute before running a hand through my hair with a breath of relief.

Upon checking my clock it's past nine thirty, and I'm shocked to see that Mother has even allowed me to sleep this late. I can't remember a time in the past where I have.

It takes me only minutes to recall the date, and realize today is my birthday and more importantly Rye's graduation. I grab a hold of my crutch and a change of new clothes, recognizing the voices from downstairs as Bannock and Clarissa along with Mother, Father and Rye. It must be why I was allowed to sleep in.

I shower quickly, washing my hair and body before slipping on my false leg and the fresh change of clothing, taking the stairs carefully, my leg still tender from all its use yesterday.

"Well look who finally woke up, sleepy head," Clarissa smiles in greeting as I make my way into the kitchen, where everyone seems to be congregated. There are four balloons and a long row of streamers that hang from the walls in the kitchen area and for a split second, I let my mind wonder if they're possibly for me.

_But of course they are _not! I remind myself hastily, before the feelings that typically well up inside me today (excitement, sadness, jealousy, hopelessness...) fester. There's a banner that hands on the other end of the wall with the words: _Congrats Rye! _handwritten across it.

I force a smile to my lips when meet Clarissa's gaze. She has no idea today is also my birthday, of course. But it doesn't matter. It _really doesn't matter._

"Hi," I say, coughing immediately after to clear the hoarseness in my throat. There's a fresh stack of bread that sits out on the countertop. It looks warm and thick, made with different goodies inside for special occasions. I know not to grab without asking, but I also know Mother does not like to be embarrassed in front of guests. So I keep my mouth closed.

I watch as Rye lifts a piece to his mouth, sending me a sheepish glance before I pat his back.

"C-c-c-congratulations, Rye," I stammer and note the way Mother rolls her eyes at my very appearance. I think she had hoped I'd sleep through their entire celebration.

"Thanks man," he says with a forced smile. "This'll be you next year!"

Clarissa and Bannock smile, and I hope they don't note the way I tense, just _waiting_ for Mother to make some sort of comment. It never comes; she only ignores the exchange all together and glances through the newspaper once more.

"Peeta, that bakery needs cleaning," she mentions a few moments later. "Sweep the floors, clean up the countertops and mop. Then you're free for the rest of the day."

"Y-y-y-yes, ma'am."

"Such a respectful boy," I hear Clarissa mutter gently, as if to keep conversation steady as I exited the room. It's actually somewhat of a relief to be excused from the awkwardness of the kitchen, where I'm obviously not wanted.

I take the broom and begin the chore of sweeping, making sure to do an especially good job so that Mother would not get upset and ruin Rye's special day.

I've just finished mopping the bakery and have moved onto the windows and countertops when there comes a knock on the door. The bakery is closed for today, having Rye's graduation tonight, but when I glance up curiously, it's the face of a beaming Primrose who stares back.

I open it gently and she's practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Peeta! Oh, I was hoping you'd be in the bakery!" she chimes and I look to her with utter confusion, unsure of why Prim would be looking for _me._

"Oh," I say, as realization dawns on me. "Did you w-w-want a s-s-sweet?"

"What? No!" she says, shaking her head furiously. "I need you to come with me."

"Right now?"

"No, tomorrow. _Of course_ right now, silly!"

"But-"

"Oh, please? This will only take a second."

I glance back at the bakery and examine it over. I've completed all my chores, and Mother did say I was free to go after they were finished. It's not like I would be missed her for a few minutes anyway.

"Just n-n-need to go grab some s-s-shoes," I say, suddenly self conscious of my nub as she glances down. "Meet m-me around f-f-front?"

She nods, and just like that she's off sprinting. I blink twice, locking back up the bakery doors and once again double checking to make sure everything looks _perfectly._

I tug on my sneakers and pull open the door to meet an eager Prim who seems to be unable to contain herself.

"W-w-where are we g-g-going?" I question as she continues to tug on my arm, dragging me down the street.

"To my house," she says cheerfully and I wonder if she's gotten those eyeballs down pat. She seemed to be hell-bent on practicing the entire rest of my stay; I wouldn't be surprised if she had. Suddenly, my excitement begins to grow alongside her, eager to see her progress as she pulls me closer and closer to her home.

Her urgency slows as we walk up her driveway and I note the impish grin on her features as her hand lands on the doorknob.

The door swings open and my momentary confusion only increases as I note Katniss standing in the threshold holding a semi circular lopsided cake. It's covered in white frosting and a singular candle on the top.

Katniss glances down at it, then back at me with reddened cheeks.

"I'm... not exactly the best baker," she laughs awkwardly. "But uh... happy birthday, Peeta."

My mouth falls open, but no words emerge. There are no words to describe the array of different emotions that run through me with this one scene before me.

Because I can't remember the last time someone acknowledged my birthday...

And I don't recall _ever_ getting a cake.

"We have to sing to him!" Prim exclaims, moving closer to her sister to grab the cake from her hands. She sets it down on top of the table as Katniss grabs hold of my shoulder and steers me in its direction, helping me to sit right in front of it as they strike up the song.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Peeta, happy birthday to you!"

Her voice is soft and flowing, as if she's not really trying to sound so beautifully, but she does. Like the birds that used to sing right outside our house.

I wish I could ask her to keep singing, but I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to find my voice again.

"Blow out the candle, Peeta," Prim whispers to my motionless form and I snap out of my haze immediately, turning up to her slightly dazed.

She smiles.

"We know you're not one, but we didn't have seventeen candles. Hope you don't mind."

_How could I mind?_

"I-I-It's... _perfect," _I breathe with awe.

"Then you better blow that candle out, before all the icing melts," Katniss chuckles. "I should have let it cool longer before trying to frost it, but we were on a bit of a time crunch."

I blow out the candle and Prim and Katniss clap excitedly.

"Y-y-y-you didn't have to a-a-at a-a-"

"I know," Katniss says, her hand landing on mine. "We _wanted_ to. Because you are our friend."

She places a piece in front of me, and I can't help the excitement that over takes my form at the prospect of eating my very first piece of birthday cake. _For me._

"I can't promise its any good," she warns, picking up a sliver with her own fork. We all take a bite, and immediately after both Prim and Katniss spit theirs into a napkin.

"God, Katniss what the hell is that?" Prim cries out, which only makes me laugh.

They both note how I not only swallow my first bite, but take another and another and one more.

"Peeta you don't have to force that down, I know it tastes like shit," Katniss struggles to get out between her fits of laugher. "At least have some milk to wash it down."

"It's d-d-delicious."

"I'll allow you one lie because it's your birthday."

"It really i-i-is though," I insist, taking another bite. I'd eat the entire thing if she'd let me.

This is _my_ first birthday cake.

And it's incredible.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who left reviews on the last chapter and also to those of you who put "Eggshells" on your favorites or story alerts. It really means a lot to me! Also, thanks to everyone over on tumblr who are so supportive and sweet!

If you'd like to follow me on tumblr you can find me under the URL **ivegotthesclaf **details on my profile!


	12. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

A big thanks to fnur and misshoneywell for their help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Eleven

* * *

"Hello, my name is Peeta M-m-m-" I cut off with a large grunt of annoyance, pressing my head into my hands, letting it tilt down toward the table.

"You were so close," Katniss urges from across the way, but I only scoff at her, shaking my head.

I hear her giggle and my head snaps up to meet her eyes, where she's smirking at me with a cocked eyebrow and arms folded around her middle.

"W-w-wha-"

"Stop," she urges, lifting her hands up, palms facing me. I listen to her, silencing my voice immediately and blinking in her direction.

"Take a deep breath," her voice is soothing and she closes her eyes, her chest rising and falling languidly. I copy her movements for a long minute before she whispers for me to stop, and my eyes meet hers again.

"Don't be nervous," she speaks evenly. "There's nothing to be nervous about right now."

Katniss has been working with me almost every day for the past several weeks of summer vacation. It's about three weeks into July now, and with all our practice exercises and routines, it's becoming increasingly easier to speak full sentences without any hesitation or stutter.

Not that I don't still mess up sometimes.

I've done it before, just a couple times over the past few weeks and the sentences were small. They started out with two words: "I'm Peeta." Once I got that down, we added a _hello _and finally my last name as well.

The first time I made it through saying; "Hello, I'm Peeta" three times, Katniss was so excited she fell into my arms similar to the way she had over my report card. Her touches have become more and more frequent, whether it's her hand landing on my own reassuringly, or her arms wrapping around my middle in praise. I've begun to grow accustomed to the feel of her body close to my own, and now instead of curling back away from it, I've actually begun to crave it.

...Which makes me nervous, because the only way I really _receive_ it is if I do something good, and the more nervous I become, the less good I do, and then all I get from Katniss are instructions to take deep breaths.

"Now, try again."

_Come on, Mellark._

"Hello, m-m-m-"

"Stop."

"Damnit!" I hiss, my fist connecting with the table rougher than I intend. I look back up to meet Katniss's eyes, which I'm sure are wide with shock, but she only looks to me with a slight frown on her lips.

"I-I-I'm sorry," I try, and then there's her hand, reaching out for my still fisted one and covering over the top of it.

The telephone rings and both our heads snap up in its direction.

"Let's take a break," Katniss insists before standing up from her spot at the table. "I'll be right back, hang tight."

She disappears, and I'm left sitting at the table by myself. It's not awkward though... not like how it used to be where I'd shuffle on my feet awkwardly, unsure of where to go or how to act.

Spending time at the Everdeens has grown increasingly _normal_, actually.

After about a week and a half of Katniss stopping by the bakery to come and "pick me up," she started to subtly suggest the idea that I come over whenever I'd like on my own.

The first time I stood outside the bakery waiting nearly twenty minutes for her, I was nervous to make the walk to her house all by myself. Technically, we hadn't made plans for this particular day, but in weeks past we had always gotten together. It was routine by that point.

So I walked over, figuring the worst that could happen was she wasn't home or told me today wasn't a good day. However, when I rasped on the door and it opened with Katniss smiling largely, all my nervousness melted away.

"_I was hoping you'd stop by."_

Ever since, things have been easier between the two of us. Our friendship has grown into the type she described to me that first day she came over and we went on a walk. We can joke now (a more recent discovery) and nine times out of ten I even laugh, which always makes her laugh too. We've snuck up to her room a couple more times since summer started, to watch a movie on her bed like we did the night of the prom.

I catch her staring at me sometimes, but when I turn to look her head on she always turns in the other direction quickly, a hint of a smile on her lips. I can never figure out why she's staring at me though. Maybe it's because she's silently wondering how we possibly got to the point we've reached now. I know I find myself wondering the same thing a lot of the time.

"I know how you feel."

The voice whips me out of my thoughts and I turn in my spot to face Prim, who leans against the wall in the kitchen with her arms crossed over her middle casually.

"About... what?" I breathe a moment later and she takes a couple steps forward, pulling out the chair where Katniss had been sitting.

"With the stuttering business. Don't forget I was a stutter- a _stut-ter-er,"_ she emphasizes each word slowly, making us both laugh.

I had forgotten though. It's just that Prim speaks so well, it's hard to believe she ever had trouble. Her words flow so smoothly and articulately. I don't think I'll ever be quite on her level, but it'd be nice to walk away with half the confidence she carries.

"Don't worry too hard about it, Peeta. You're going to make a lot of mistakes before you're completely out of the woods, but you're doing really good. Better than I did when I was learning."

"I don't believe t-t-that," I snort.

"Believe it," she speaks, nodding her head in confirmation. "It took me ages to learn to say my name with one 'P' rather than three."

She snorts as she speaks, erupting into a fit of giggles that's hard not to follow. She pushes a large chunk of her hair behind her ear, just like her older sister, and smiles largely, her dimples protruding.

"Katniss is a great teacher," Prim begins and I nod eagerly in time with her compliment. Her eyebrow arches just slightly and she cocks her head to the left, holding up a finger. "_But, _she doesn't always _get it, _if you know what I mean."

I'm silent.

"How could she? She's spoken perfectly since the day she began talking," Prim continues, her hands moving wildly in gesture. "She tries, and she does a good job but, if you ever need someone to _relate_ to, I guess I'm just offering up a listening ear."

Now it's my eyebrows that rise in shock, my mouth opening and closing several times before I simply smile.

"Thank you."

She matches the smile, letting off a soft chuckle before rolling her eyes jokingly. Her hand comes to rest on my forearm and she gives it a tight squeeze.

"I'm really happy you've decided to come around more."

"Because... I bring... cookies?" I tease her and she laughs even harder, her shoulders shaking and lips parted wide.

"No!" she insists. "Because, well I don't know. You make things happier. I've noticed it in Katniss, she's in a lot better mood when you're around."

"Why?" I question, completely confused. It makes no sense to me why she'd be happier with me around when all we do is go through round after round of simple sentences I can only say half the time.

Then I remember Katniss said we were friends._ Of course we're friends. _Friends spend the summer at one another's houses, friends help each other out when it's needed, friends laugh and joke and tease.

Yes, Katniss and I are friends. I know this, I just... need reminding sometimes. It's a foreign thought that sits in my mind, but has me smiling none-the-less.

"Uh, because you're awesome!" is Prim's reply, like I'm truly dense and she even smacks my arm jokingly. A blush creeps to my cheeks and I duck my head a little before shrugging.

"Well, I... don't know... about that..."

"Hey, Peeta?"

"Yeah?"

"Realize anything?"

"What?"

"You're not stuttering!" Prim giggles and my eyes widen with surprise.

Well, I suppose I'm not.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment!" Prim concludes. "Because you know, people tend to stutter less when they're more comfortable. Aww Peeta, you're comfortable around me?"

I chuckle, still too shocked to respond properly. My eyes widen as Prim's arms fling around my neck and she pulls me into a tight hug.

"I'm comfortable around you too!"

I pat her back awkwardly, laughing lightly as Katniss comes into view, eyeing us with amusement before clicking the telephone off and placing it back on the stand.

"Gale is coming over," she announces and Prim jumps up out of my arms and lets out a loud _woo hoo! _

Gale.

I know _of_ Gale, but have never actually had a conversation with him. He graduated this past year with Rye and was on the same wrestling team as him.

He was a popular guy and I'd known him to be a close friend of Katniss's. So close, I thought he was taking her to the prom (along with half the school).

Katniss has assured me on many occasions they are nothing more than friends, but the idea of sharing the small world I've been able to form with the Everdeens with him frightens me. Of course I knew this day would come. He was here first after all.

It's still frightening though.

Katniss must sense my discomfort as I shift in my place, because she sends me a reassuring smile.

"It'll be fun," she speaks reassuringly. "I told him you were over and he's excited. I think you two could end up good friends."

A disbelieving snort passes my lips before I can stop it, and when I turn red-cheeked in Katniss's direction, she's smirking at me, arms folded and head shaking.

"I promise."

* * *

Its hours after Katniss originally brings up the idea of Gale coming over that he shows up. So long, that I've actually begun to wonder if he planned on coming still. The doorbell rings and Prim flies up from her seat at the table beside me, slipping on the tiled floor with her socks and pulling the heavy door open.

"Since when do you knock?" She asks a mix of amusement and confusion evident in her voice.

I don't turn to face the doorway where she stands, but I hear the sound of the stranger kicking off his shoes and laughing airily.

"Since you keep it locked, squirt."

Prim giggles (similar to the way she giggles when we talk to one another) and I hear the stranger grunt with effort before turning in time to see him set Prim back down on her feet. She wraps her arms around his middle and walks him into the area where Katniss and I sit at the table awkwardly.

"Hey Catnip," he greets with a large grin, patting Prim on the back. It's easy to tell he belongs here. He's part of the Everdeen's extended family as well and it becomes evident that _I'm_ the outsider- not him.

He was here first. He's _been_ here.

"Don't be rude," Katniss chides, tilting her head in my direction. Gale's smile melts to a look of hurt and his lips drop open into a long 'o.'

"I was getting there!" he scoffs before smacking his hand (rather roughly) against my back one time, unwrapping the other from around Prim to stick in front of me.

"How's it going, man?"

Skeptically, I look between Katniss's eager face, Gale's accepting one and then his waiting hand before taking it into my sweating one.

"Uh... good?" I wince as it comes out more as a question than a statement, but if Gale notices he only lets out a long laughter in response, patting me a couple more hard times before moving to pull out a chair opposite of Katniss.

"So nice of you to finally invite me over."

"You know you don't need an invitation, asshole," she snickers. "It's _you_ who's been too busy for _me."_

"Never, Catnip," he smirks.

"No really, I get it," Katniss says, rising to her feet with her hands up in a surrendering position. "Have to keep the girlfriend happy. Tell her I said hi by the way, since neither of you can be bothered to come over."

Gale snorts.

"Even though," she continues, stepping into the kitchen and turning the dials on the oven. "I _did_ hook you guys up. But, I guess that doesn't matter."

"Nope, doesn't matter. What are you doing?"

Listening to the two of them is like watching a tennis match; the way they bounce off one another quickly, leaving little to no room for interjection. I sit quietly, staring at my folded hands on top of the table.

"Making dinner."

"About time."

"Whatcha makin?" Prim inquires, pushing herself up onto the counter top opposite of Katniss, who begins pulling out several different vegetables.

"Soup."

"Yum."

"Peeta?" Katniss calls out suddenly, causing my head to snap up. My eyes meet hers and her eyebrows are knitted downward before she offers an easy smile.

"A little help from the chef?"

"Oh uh, s-s-sure, Katniss."

I practically dive out of the chair to position myself near her, nervously tugging at the edges of my shirt and staring down at the floor with the feeling of Gale and Prim's eyes on the back of my head.

"It'll be a little while until food it ready," Katniss mentions a minute later when both of them continue to stare. "So, why don't you preoccupy yourselves?"

Prim mentions something about Gale showing her how to do a certain move on a computer game and he readily accepts, the two of them darting into the living room.

At first I'm confused, because why did Katniss let Gale come over if she was just going to send him off? I turn to her in confusion and the corners of her lips twitch up as she looks to me under her eyelashes.

"Nervous much?"

I smirk.

"Don't be," she whispers. "He's a good guy."

"I know, I-I-I-"

I stop, breathe in and out like Katniss taught me and focus on her face. No one else is within hearing distance, it's just her and I. I'm _fine._

"You're fine," she breathes somehow knowing exactly what type of reassurance I need.

"I believe you," I finally manage and Katniss's lips lift into a full-blown smile.

"About time."

I snort and she matches it, laughing quietly to herself before handing me a stack of carrots, a knife and a cutting board.

"Cut them really thin," she says, demonstrating. "Otherwise, picky eaters over there will pick them out."

I nod in understanding and begin on my task, holding the carrot as far away from my hand with the knife as possible. I don't have too much experience with _sharp knives, _only those that you use to frost cakes and occasionally eat dinner with.

My mind flashes back to the time Mother pointed one in my direction. I had been clear across the room, away from immediate danger, the memory of the pointed blade jutted out directly toward my chest is enough to make it tighten and twist painfully now.

I don't really like knives.

But Katniss has given me a task, and she's asked _me _to help with dinner, not anybody else, so I can't let her down.

I finish chopping the carrots (very thinly) with no damage done and dump them into the pot as directed by Katniss. There's a milky white broth bubbling inside as Katniss throws all sorts of other vegetables inside.

"But what will we have _with_ the soup?" she wonders aloud and for a long minute we're both completely silent.

"I can make cornbread," I suggest, my eyebrows lifting up with realization. Her face lights up similar to how I suspect mine does, and she jabs a finger in the air, nodding her head rapidly.

"Yes, cornbread sounds good. Help yourself around the kitchen, find whatever you need."

If this had been the first time Katniss directed me to make myself at home around her kitchen, I would have faltered. I would have shifted in the center of the room awkwardly, running my hands over the back of my head until she assisted me.

I hardly felt comfortable going through my _own_ kitchen, let alone the Everdeen's.

But now, after being told to fetch glasses of water or help myself to the seconds sitting on the top of the stove, it's not so weird anymore to dig around and find what I need in order to make the bread.

"What kind of cornbread w-w-would you like?"

"What do you mean?" Katniss turns to ask me, a look of perplexity on her face.

"Well, do you... want it...regular? Or things... added... inside?" I ask, the entire question coming out stutter-free even though it takes me quite a while to get it all out. Katniss is patient though and waits quietly, her eyes never leaving mine and nodding in encouragement.

When I finish, her smile broadens before she eyes me skeptically.

"What kind of _things?"_

"Whatever you... want," I shrug. "We make assortments at the b-b-b-akery," I wince, hands beginning to tremble with the mistake.

"Tell me about them," Katniss says, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter top.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's trying to get me to talk. Almost like she's using my questions as a way to continue our lesso-

_Oh._

I sigh deeply, gathering my bearings.

"We have some... with... jalapenos and cheese," I pause for a break. "Some with bacon. Some with all three..."

"Bacon!?"

The voice is not Katniss's which interrupts us, but that of Gale who is in the threshold of the kitchen in an instant, wide-eyed.

"Bacon?" he repeats and I nod twice.

"Yes. Do it. Yes."

"Gale, you don't even know what we're talking about," Katniss retorts with a playful roll of her eyes.

"Catnip, I don't need to know to know it's a good idea. Bacon makes everything better."

"He's r-r-right," I manage with a shrug and I think both Gale and Katniss are surprised to hear me speak. Gale's confused expression turns to one of acceptance as he holds a hand out to me for a high-five.

It's embarrassing how happy I am to have his approval. But he's a friend of Katniss, and not even just a friend but a _best_ friend. I want him to like me, even if it's only because of our similar tastes in meat.

"Help yourself," Katniss says, motioning to the refrigerator. "We don't have jalapeno peppers, but remind me next time and I'll pick some up."

"Or I can," I reply, pulling the tin-foil of bacon out and heating up a skillet next to the large pot of soup.

Her elbow nudges my side and I chuckle to myself, placing a couple strips down the center of the pan.

"Taste this," she speaks a minute later, holding a spoonful of steaming soup up toward my lips. I open my mouth to take a bite when she lets out a short gasp and pulls the spoon out of my reach.

I look down to her in surprise and she smiling with a blush creeping to her cheeks.

"Sorry, it's hot," she mumbles, bringing the spoon to her own lips and blowing gently for a long minute. "Okay, try now."

I'm in shock, blinking rapidly as the bacon below me begins to hiss and sizzle. Slowly, I wrap my lips around the spoon and pull the liquid into my mouth. She watches me intently, the spoon floating in the air in front of me as she gages my reaction.

It's delicious. A creamy mixture of chicken and several summer vegetables that combine to make a delicious texture and taste. My eyes must widen with appreciation because her smile increases (as does that beautiful shade of pink on her cheeks) and she moves the spoon to the counter top.

"Good? Bad?" she asks without meeting my gaze.

"Delicious!" I exclaim and she chuckles.

"You know w-w-what'd make it better, t-though?"

"Hmm?"

"Bacon."

* * *

After dinner, Prim suggests we all play some sort of game together. Although it's well past six in the evening, the sun still sits heavily in the sky, just hardly beginning to set.

We clear the dishes from dinner and Prim and Gale end up washing them (involuntarily) as Katniss shows me to their basement to pick out a game to play. Before we head down the cool steps, I ask her if we should save anything for her mother, maybe put a meal together especially for her (just so she doesn't think we all raided her house without thinking of her.)

Katniss gets a weird look on her face at the thought and quickly dismisses it, saying her mother will probably have already eaten by the time she gets home tonight anyway.

I don't press it, because Katniss hasn't said much of anything about her mother. She seems to like to talk about her just as much as I like to talk about my own, although I'm unsure why.

The Everdeen's basement is wide and drafty. It's unfinished, with concrete walls that have white lines painted in scattered places. It's not very well lit, but light enough for our eyes to adjust after a long minute. There's a television in the corner, along with a beat-up couch leaning against the wall. There are several shelves with board games lined up on them and video games piled messily near the television.

In the far corner, so far I hardly notice at first, there's large clumps of clothing near the washer and dryer, with some hanging to dry on a make-shift clothes line.

"Ever been down here before? I don't remember," Katniss asks, glancing around and then eyeing me to gage my reaction.

"I'm sure it's not as nice as yours," she says a minute later, almost nervously.

Actually, it's nicer.

Ours is unfinished as well, and very, very dark. It's full of cobwebs and used for nothing but storage for the bakery. I'm not even sure what it looks like a couple inches past the stairway.

I shake my head in answer to her question and she holds her arms out dramatically.

"Welcome, then."

I chuckle and she smirks, falling back down onto the couch before patting the spot next to her. I've hardly sat down before Prim and Gale come barreling down the stairs, chatting about which game we should play.

"Monopoly!" Prim insists.

"Darts," Gale retorts, arms folded.

"_Monopoly!" _

"_Darts."_

"Gale, you suck at darts," Katniss interjects, cackling.

He turns to her with a look of annoyance before huffing dramatically.

"And how exactly am I supposed to get better if I don't practice?"

"Come on, Gale. We never play Monopoly."

"It's boring Prim, face the facts. No one has time to sit here and play that long-ass game. I promised Madge I'd be at her place around eight."

Prim and Katniss simultaneously 'oOoO' making Gale's cheeks turn a darker shade on his face before he rolls his eyes, walking over to the board held up by a stray nail in the wall and pulling the darts off.

"Who's first?"

"You, big shot," Katniss insists.

He aims, he throws and he misses. Not just a little, but a lot.

The dart lands on the floor.

Katniss and Prim are doubled over laughing and the sight is so funny, I can't help but joining in with them, letting out a couple of my own nervous laughs. Gale stares at the dart with pursed lips before letting out his own chuckle and bending over to pick it up.

"Oh, Gale," Prim says, shaking her head. "I think you should have picked Monopoly, buddy."

"Shut up, Peanut," he hisses. "You try to do better."

"I can do it with my eyes closed."

"Please... don't."

She does. And she misses.

Not as badly as Gale. Her dart makes it to the wall, only not where the board is, but several inches to the left. The dart smacks into the concrete and dwindles quickly to the ground.

"Next time, keep your eyes open," Gale says, patting her head. She rolls her eyes, retrieving her dart before allowing Katniss a turn.

She hits a perfect bullseye. Of course she does, after all she's our schools reigning archery champion. I think about saying something about it, but decide against it. After all, she won that title before we were... well... anything to one another. That might be weird that I know that.

"Nobody beats Katniss," Gale speaks a minute later, handing me a dart. "Girl is a fucking robot."

"It's common sense."

"It is _not _common sense to throw a teeny dart and hit the center of a board clear across the room," Gale snorts. "Jeez Katniss, isn't it enough that you're good? You don't need to make us all feel like assholes on top of it."

She snickers to herself.

I stagger my legs, like I saw Katniss do and squint my eyes, searching for the center before I let my hand fly. The dart doesn't land in the middle (and even if it did, it'd be pure luck it did so) but it does land on the board, off to the right a little ways.

"Wow, Peeta you're pretty good!" Prim compliments, grinning widely in my direction, making my cheeks heat under everyone's eyes.

"Well damn, maybe Prim and I are just extraordinarily bad."

"_Hey!"_

"Or maybe Peeta is just extraordinarily _good_," Katniss grins, winking in my direction.

* * *

It's close to eight when we head up the stairs and pool in the threshold of the Everdeen's hallway. We had time to play several more rounds, Katniss and I scoring incredibly close to one another (even tying on one occasion).

"My money is on Mellark next time," Gale laughs, tugging his sneakers on and my eyes widen at the thought of a next time. He liked me; they all enjoyed me barging in on their little put together family.

They don't mind there being a next time.

"Got that, Peeta?" he questions and I nod rapidly. He grins, shooting me a thumbs-up before patting Katniss on the back.

"All right, Catnip, sorry to get going so quickly," Gale huffs, one hand on the door. "But, my lady friend waits-"

"Yeah, yeah, get out of here, Hawthorne," Katniss teases, smacking his arm. "Thanks for coming over today, I had fun. Don't become a stranger, all right? I know you're all graduated with a girlfriend, but don't forget the little people."

Gale laughs, "I won't."

"Tell Madge the same goes for her."

"I will."

"Are you leaving too, Peeta?" Prim wonders, her tone saddened.

All their eyes turn in the direction of my hunched body, slipping my shoes onto my foot and false one.

"Uh... yeah, I should g-g-get going," I say. "It'll take until eight to walk home, so..."

"You're walking, dude?" Gale questions and I nod, brushing myself off as I rise to my feet.

"I can give you a lift."

"It's all right, really."

"Dude, Madge lives like... three blocks down from you. It's no problem."

I shake my head in embarrassment.

"It's o-o-okay."

"Peeta," Katniss speaks, her voice low and serious. I turn to her and she eyes me in a way she never has before.

"Gale doesn't bite."

They erupt into a chorus of laughter and I finally agree to take the lift from Gale. We wave goodbye to the Everdeen girls and I climb into the front seat of his truck, shutting the door tightly behind me. Gale starts the car up immediately, not bothering to turn his head as he backs out the driveway and down the open road.

He must think it's pathetic that I don't have a car, or drive at all really. That I was planning to walk home in the dark to my house, but if he does he doesn't say anything about it. In fact, he's quieter than I've seen him be all night. Perhaps he feels awkward without the help of his friends around.

The silence isn't awkward to me though. It's actually comforting, not feeling like I have to say anything to please anyone. Gale turns the radio on a moment later and we listen to the soft rock playing in the background as he continues to cruise down the road.

"I'm happy we finally got to hang out, dude," Gale finally speaks, clearing his throat. "About time, the way Katniss talks about you."

My head snaps up in his direction with confusion and curiosity, but no words leave my lips. He notices, his eyes shifting to meet mine although his head stays turned toward the road and he gives a slight nod.

"Yeah man, she's always telling me stories about things you two do. Even back when she was tutoring you, she'd always be jabbering on about you..."

His lips continue to move, but my mind is having trouble wrapping around the fact that Katniss _talks_ about me. She has talked about me, for _months _(Gale did just say something about tutoring, didn't he?). I can't fathom _why she would want to _but it doesn't keep the grin from spreading to my face.

Katniss has talked about me with her best friend.

It hasn't been one-sided all these months.

Katniss has been my friend all along.

* * *

Happy New Year everybody! I hope you all had a ton of fun last night and were safe. Thank you so much for all your kind words and adds to story alerts/favorites. It means so much to me, really!

If you'd like, you can follow me on tumblr (ivegotthesclaf) or twitter (passtheheroin). :)


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

A big thanks to fnur and misshoneywell for all their help with this chapter!

* * *

Chapter Twelve

* * *

The day Katniss picks me up to go for a spin in her new (old) car, it's pouring rain.

The weather is enough to keep most people home, making business in the bakery slow. Rye and I lean against the countertop opposite of one another with a game of checkers laying in the middle. Although it's my day off, I stay home. It'd take twice as long to get to Katniss's in the rain, and by the time I made it, I'd be completely drenched and limping from the effect the weather has on my false leg. Bad weather always makes it ache.

Rye's face is beginning to grow hot with annoyance as I steal another one of his pieces when Katniss comes barreling through the door, dots of wetness on her clothing and the tip of her braid dripping onto the floor.

"Katniss?"

"Come look!" she exclaims, pointing out the window. She mentioned briefly in the past that she's been saving up for a car for _years_, pooling money earned from working, chores and holidays all in hopes of getting some sort of vehicle.

It's definitely an older model, but it fits her personality just right. Katniss has never been about having the latest and greatest, or even fitting in really. She just _does._

And I think part of that is because of how much she doesn't care. People like her spark, and that's why the red paint reminds me of her. It's like a fire, which Katniss has lots of. Her car is also petite, just like her. It's a five seater, but could probably only comfortably hold four. It's hard to examine the rest of the car in the pouring rain from the deck, but as I make to move back inside Katniss tugs on my hand roughly.

"Come take a drive with me," she insists, beaming. "You'd be the first! Unless, you have to work..."

"No, it's my uh... day off," I say, matching her smile. She nods when I tell her I need to go put on some better shoes, and rushes to her car as I make my way back through the bakery to grab some shoes. Rye smirks at me, shaking his head and clearing the countertop off of our game, but says nothing more until I'm walking back out the door.

"Have fun!" he calls out, his voice laced with suggestion.

I offer him a wave before disappearing into the rain to Katniss's car. The clouds are dark, making the sky appear almost to be nighttime and Katniss's wipers move quickly across her windshield to offer assistance.

We drive around for a while; Katniss not wanting to go anywhere in particular really but just wanting to drive. I don't mind - it's actually quite relaxing, and despite the weather, Katniss is a very good driver. My tense body begins to slink back against the seat slowly as I grow more comfortable and I find myself even letting my head lean back against the headrest.

"It's... comfortable," I say, not knowing if that's the kind of thing you say about someone's new car or not. I'm not huge on compliments - receiving or giving. It feels foreign on my tongue, and I feel my neck sting with embarrassment as the idea of possibly saying the wrong thing settles in.

"I know!" Katniss exclaims, nodding her head in agreement. "The seats are very nice. No stains or anything. I mean, I was expecting to have to do a little clean-up maintenance on this thing for the price I got, but it's actually in really good shape!"

We pull into a parking lot, right in front of the nearby Starbucks and Katniss puts the car into park before taking the keys out. I glance around anxiously before turning to her with knitted eyebrows in confusion.

"What... are we... d-d-doing here?"

"Well, I thought it might be fun to get some coffee. It's so cold and dreary out, it's really the perfect day."

I'm silent, blinking in her direction before turning back to the brick building with a frown.

"What? Don't want to be seen with me in public?" Katniss teases and my eyes widen as my head snaps in her direction.

"No!"

"I'm kidding, Peeta," she snickers.

"It's just... I don't... I wasn't e-e-expecting-"

"My treat."

This is all wrong. If I had known we'd be going out somewhere, I would have gotten some money from where I keep it hidden in my bedroom. I figured we'd go for a spin and then back to Katniss's like we regularly. It was stupid to assume... I should have brought some just in case-

"Peeta? Are you coming, or are you going to make me go in all by myself?"

She's out of the car before I can provide an answer and I rush to catch up with her, grabbing the door and holding it open for her as she enters past. We scuff our feet against the expensive looking brown rug before stepping further onto the nice wood floors leading to the marble countertop.

It's beautiful, really.

"What do you want? I'm not kidding, my treat."

"Katniss... _no."_

"Listen, I'm in a good mood. This kind of generosity is not normal, so take it while you can!"

I'm stunned silent and she winks in my direction before moving closer to the counter. She turns back to me expectantly after ordering herself a coffee, and I look up at the menu in bewilderment.

What the hell is a _cinnamon chai latte?_

"Uh... I'll have... um..."

"Make that two," she says and the cashier silently rings up two coffees, which come out to be over ten dollars. _Ten dollars for coffee? _It must be made with gold at that price...

"You'll like it," Katniss assures me as we move a ways down to wait for our drinks. It only takes a minute or two for our drinks to be finished, and we move across the small cafe to find a seat near the window.

It's pretty empty inside, just one man sitting quietly on the couch in the opposite corner and a woman directly across from us on her laptop. The air smells nice, a sweet mixture of pastries and coffee and something else I can't quite pick up on. There's a fireplace which is connected to the wall directly beside us. The flames rise steadily (although synthetic) and create a nice toasty atmosphere.

Katniss takes a long sip of her coffee and her eyebrows lift up in my direction as she catches my stare. I offer her a smile, copying her movements but drawing back quickly - the coffee too hot against my tongue.

"Careful," Katniss says with concern, snorting when I begin laughing at the entire situation. I'm overcome by feelings of... giddiness and happiness; a burnt tongue is nothing to dull those down.

"I'm... having so much... f-f-fun!" I tell her, excitedly, which makes Katniss burst out laughing.

"It's just a Starbucks."

"But, I've never... really been... inside one... before," I tell her honestly. "I've always wondered... what it... looked like."

I've passed this white brick building several times before over the course of the past few years since its been built, always wondering what it might look like inside. I wouldn't have given it a second thought, except I knew it was where friends went to hang out. I'd see the faces through the window; laughing and just... talking, enjoying themselves.

It looked like so much fun.

But, I never had anyone who wanted to just sit and talk with me, so there was never any reason for me to go inside. My imagination has not failed me when it comes to the inside of the building. It's just as I imagined. The crafted marble countertops, the smell of cinnamon in the air, the nice warmth the fireplace offered...

And someone is sitting across from me, enjoying the entire experience along my side. It's almost too much to process (which I know seems dumb) but the fact that she wants to sit here with me and talk and drink coffee has me grinning from ear to ear.

Her eyes widen at my admission and her mouth drops open into a perfect 'o' before her hand falls down on the table with a soft thud.

"You've never been inside a Starbucks before?"

I shake my head twice, smirking at her expression before she contorts it into indifference. She offers a short shrug, like it's really no big deal I've never been inside one (like she wasn't just shocked moments before) and her hand glides along her coffee cup.

"You haven't been missing much," she assures me. "Soon enough, you'll be bored of me dragging you here."

The implication that there'd be more days spent here, talking and drinking ten dollar coffee has me sitting up straighter in my seat. I want that. I really want that to be true.

"So, let me get this straight, just so I can add it to our bucket list," Katniss continues after a moment. "Never been in a Starbucks..."

"Nope."

"Never ridden a bike..."

"No," I shake my head, though I'm surprised she remembers that one.

"Never-"

"_Mellark?"_

Katniss's words are cut off by the blood-curdling sound of Cato's voice ringing throughout the quiet cafe. I turn my head up toward the main doors where he stands, wide-eyed with disbelief and a girl locked onto his arm. He moves forward, headed for us and the girl drops his arm in protest.

"Peeta fucking Mellark here with Katniss fucking Everdeen!" he continues on, oblivious to the annoyed glances others give him the closer he draws to us.

"Fuck," I hear Katniss whisper under her breath right before his large hands land on either side of our table.

"Long time, no see buddy, where've you been hiding?" he questions, smacking me hard on the back, causing me to wince involuntarily. He snickers as my body gives a jolt and although I refuse to look up at him, to confront him, I also refuse to let him embarrass me in front of Katniss. Not today at least, when things have been going so smoothly.

"Go away, Cato," Katniss hisses.

"You have to answer me this Mellark, you have to answer me this," Cato is overcome by his own sense of humor, hardly able to get his sentence out before he erupts into laughter. "How much did you pay Katniss to be seen in public with you?"

_Don't let him get to you._

"I mean, did you pay her straight up in cash, or maybe cookies instead?" he cracks himself up, stomping his foot against the beautiful wood floors carelessly before smacking our table, causing our cups to jolt.

"Ignore him," Katniss says, almost breathlessly, so quietly I'm sure it hasn't traveled to Cato. I nod my head in confirmation and go back to studying my coffee cup.

"You know Katniss, if you're looking for some extra cash, I can assure you I pay better than Mellark can."

Katniss's jaw clenches and her dark eyes hold an intensity I've never seen before as they dart up to meet Cato's. She stares back at him in such a repulsed way he actually takes a step in the other direction, faltering slightly before turning back to me with a smirk. He knows better than to fuck with Katniss, but fucking with me is something he's grown rather accustomed to.

"So, are you going to tell me your secret?" he asks, his tone playfully venomous. I turn back away as Katniss instructed, though it takes all my willpower, as my body fights not to respond to his attacks. I have no idea what I'd even say if I _did _reply, but the taunt is hard to ignore.

His hand lands on my shoulder rather roughly and begins pinching it until I'm forced to look up at him.

"I'm talking to you and I know you heard me, asshole," he spits.

I'm not sure when my feelings for Cato switched from fear to anger, but I surprise myself when I don't feel the familiar sting against my skin from embarrassment or sweat that typically laces my hands when he confronts me. No, none of those things are present, the only symptom I ever remember experiencing before that I do now is my heart beating faster in my chest.

Only this time, it's definitely not from embarrassment.

A hand, different from the one around my shoulder, softer and more familiar, lands on top of mine on the table. My eyes flicker toward Katniss who gives me the faintest of winks and squeezes our combined hands with more force. I turn back up to Cato, but his eyes have followed my own and his grip on my shoulder loosens as he lets out a disbelieving chuckle.

"Seriously?" he questions, eyeballing our entwined hands. He lets out another loud hoot before leaning in closer to me.

"You might as well just let me beat the shit out of you now, before Hawthorne gets a hold of you."

"_Gale_ and I are not dating. Nor have we _ever_ dated," Katniss seethes. "In fact, _Gale_ and _Peeta_ and _I _all hung out a couple of days ago. They're good friends."

Cato's eyebrows lift disbelievingly, but Katniss never backs down as she sits up straighter in her seat. His head turns in my direction for confirmation, and although I'm not as good at twisting my words as Katniss is(not so sure I'd consider Gale and I "good" anything, but perhaps one day we will be) the rest of her words are not a lie. I give a short nod, to which he replies with a snort.

Followed by one more, as if he's for once at a loss for words.

"Come on, Kat," he talks to her as if I'm not there. "What are you doing? You know you could do better than this joke."

I turn away from them, my face feeling heavy and weighed down with sadness, because his words are true. Katniss Everdeen can _definitely_ do better than what I have to offer her. I offer nothing. I don't even understand the general interest she's found in me. I'm grateful for it... always grateful...

But confused? I'll always be confused about why she's chosen me, and I won't be surprised if she changes her mind after giving it some careful thought.

"I don't see anyone better."

Her words snap me out of my self-loathing pity party and I turn to her with wide eyes, mirroring Cato's expression for reasons entirely different. His mouth opens in reply, but the voice that follows comes from that of the girl he walked in with, Glimmer.

"Hello, Katniss," she smirks, once again completely ignoring my existence.

"Bye," Katniss practically hisses, her chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor as she stands quickly, grabbing her cup. I look up at her, bewildered and she points to the door.

"We're leaving."

* * *

"They're a bunch of fucking assholes," Katniss continues to carry on long after we fled the parking lot. We're still in her car, parked outside her house and listening as the rain beats heavily down on the roof and windows.

Katniss unbuckles her belt and turns to face me, leaning against her door, but never motions to leave. So neither do I. The air is a little muggy in the car from the rain, but I don't mind so long as she doesn't.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes with one large breath, running a hand over the top of her head.

_She's sorry? _my brain scoffs, because she has absolutely nothing to apologize for. In fact, she did more than I could have ever asked from her. I know she's held my hand before, but that was in solitude, places no one could see; for her to reach over and grab my hand right in front of Cato took him for a loop and made my heart beat a little faster.

I know she only meant it as a reassurance, but it had done its job well. I felt a flash of... I _think... _confidence, having her there beside me. I'm not so sure that's what it was, because I'm positive I've never felt confidence before that moment. But I've heard about it, seen it on television, read the definition before.

I know what confidence _is. _

"I... he c-c-can't-"

"Slow down."

"I... didn't like... the way he talked... to... to you."

"Yeah, well, I didn't like the way he talked to you either," she snorts. "But that's Cato for you. He's a dick, to say the least."

It's one of her jokes I understand, so I laugh, freely and openly and Katniss joins in until she's holding her sides from laughing so hard and I'm gasping for breath. She wipes the corners of her eyes as her lip quivers, willing the chuckles to quit escaping them and breathes out heavily.

"Man, oh man. I promise your _second_ trip to Starbucks will be a thousand times more pleasant. No unwanted guests, or so help me."

"And... I promise... not to let him... talk to you... like t-t-t... _that_... ever again," I say, trying to hold a sense of conviction to my tone.

Katniss rolls her eyes playfully. "All right, Peeta."

"I... I'm-"

"He does whatever the hell he wants, always has," she sighs, before shaking her head as if to clear it. "It's fine. I don't give a fuck what he says about me."

"I... do," I say, unwilling to let it go.

"Why?" she asks me, exasperatedly. We're silent for a long moment, and her eyes nervously flicker away from my own, looking off to the side before turning back. Her eyebrows knit together, waiting for an answer, as if for once, she's unwilling to believe anyone would stick up for her.

She's unaware of how many people _would definitely_ tell Cato off for her. I'm just one of those many, but it doesn't change my feelings.

"Because... I care about you," I whisper, my regular voice seeming too loud for such true words.

There's a sharp intake of breath that comes from her gently parted lips, but her glossy eyes stay focused on my own.

"We're friends... r-r-remember?"

* * *

The day following Katniss's and my Starbucks adventure was spent working a long shift in the bakery. Rye disappeared early in the morning to spend time with some of his friends, leaving shortly for colleges he would not be attending.

For the first couple of hours, I was alone, which suited me fine. Father has been feeling under the weather and has decided to take the day off, and Mother... well, she rarely shows herself around the bakery anymore.

Bannock and Clarissa pop in early afternoon and note that I am covering the shift alone. Bannock finishes up what would be Father's job and sticks with me until closing. It's awkward, and I almost wished he hadn't because Bannock and I really have nothing to say to one another. There's an unspoken knowing that takes place between the two of us, almost like we're communicating with one another without saying any words.

He knows I suffer the worst of us all. He knows the reasons why.

But he doesn't do anything about it, and never has.

I don't hold him accountable, and I never, ever will. The family policy has always been every man for themselves. Sink or swim.

Bannock always swam. He had a rather charming personality, mixed with a humbling quietness about him that drew everyone further into him. He was mysterious, neat, organized, well-spoken and knowledgeable.

Of course Mother favored him, and who am I to ask him to give up that position of prominence? Why sink _everyone _because I can't float? It's my own problem, my own fault. Nothing to do with Bannock.

Mother, has been extremely... quiet these past couple of weeks, a rarity that has not escaped Rye or me. Late at night, we whisper to one another what we suspect is wrong with her, for her not to be her typically loud and noisy self.

Although I'm cautious and somewhat frightened by her silence, I take advantage of it while it lasts. Whatever the reasons, they've allowed me an abundance of time to spend with Katniss, as long as all my chores are finished.

They always are.

Today, Katniss has asked me to meet her at the park. I'm surprised that she doesn't offer to pick me up (not because I expect it, but rather because she has been obsessed with her new car), but the park is only a couple blocks down the opposite direction from Katniss's. The walk there is no longer than the one that would lead me to her house.

It's sunny and bright out today, a welcomed change from the past couple of dreary and rainy days. There's a light wind to the air, but otherwise the sun boils down, only disappearing behind the occasional perfectly white cloud.

If I had been thinking when I first left the house eagerly, I would have brought my camera. It's the perfect day to shoot some pictures.

When I get to the park, I'm confused for a long minute, because in the parking lot sits no cars and the immediate area seems abandoned from any people.

Perhaps I have the wrong park?

No. That can't be right, this is the only park in Panem. That I know of anyway, and surely Katniss would specify if she knew of more than one.

I scratch my head, moving my hand to form a shield from the sun over my forehead as I look around for any sight of her.

Nothing.

_She must be running late. _

I think about finding a bench to rest on until she arrives when I hear the sound of my name being called just a little ways up the hill. When I glance up, I see her standing there, waving to me and wearing a large smile. It's not until I'm halfway up the hill that I notice the bike perched off to her side.

Her hair is braided back in two braids instead of one today and she presses a water bottle to her lips, brushing her forearm over her head to rid it of the perspiration.

"You... biked... here?" I question, uneasily and she nods.

"I'm going to teach you something new today," she speaks enthusiastically.

"What..." I ask, my voice holding a hint of a quiver as I glance at the bike... and her... and then the bike again.

"Do you trust me?"

The question catches me off guard. I don't think _anyone_ has ever asked me if I _trusted_ them before.

"...Trust," I mutter back, testing the word out. It seems foreign on my tongue, and my mouth feels full of cotton.

Katniss waits patiently, as always. Her eyes narrow just the slightly and she nods slowly.

"Yes... do you?"

I don't fully know the definition of the word. It's hard to say you'll do something when you're not sure what it means. Trust. _Trust._

_I told Katniss about my paintings. That's trust._

_I spend all my free time with her. That's trust. _

_I would do most anything for her._

"It's okay, you don't need to answer that," she responds quickly, waving her hands in the air as if erasing her words. "A better question is-"

"-No wait," I cut her off, suddenly growing shy in the silence between the two of us.

"Yes?" she prompts me after a long moment of silence.

"I do... trust you... t-that is."

Katniss has never, ever hurt me before. And I know the feeling inside of me is trust that she will not do it now.

She swallows heavily, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips before she gives a careful nod.

"I'm glad," she says, shifting her weight from the front of her toes to her heels. "So... is it okay, if I show you something new?"

I nod in her direction once and the smile that beams to her face is totally worth the twisting and knotting in my stomach.

"Great! Come here."

I follow her the few feet to where the bike is located and stand on the opposite side of it as her.

"Peeta..." she says my name cautiously, chancing a glance up in my direction, but my eyes fall to where my hand is locked around the handle bar.

"I'm going to teach you how to ride a bike today," she declares. "That is... if you want to learn."

"...Here?"

Her plastered smile falters just slightly as she nods her head.

"This is the best place to learn. Open trails, tons of space-"

"-Tons of p-p-people, Katniss. What if s-s-someone s-s-sees?" My words come out rushed and panicked as I feel my heart rate increasing with the suddenness of the situation before me.

"So what?" she responds, with the shrug of her shoulders. "Let them see."

I must wear a mask of anguish because her face softens significantly and she studies me for a long moment before releasing a drawn out sigh.

"No one will see," she promises in a whisper before looking around. "There's not a single person in sight."

I know there isn't right now, my fear is later on when I'm actually on the bike, wobbling back and forth and probably making an ass of myself. Cato showed up out of the blue at Starbucks, and although I was able to not cower away in fear from him then, it'd be a whole other story if he caught me like this. Or anyone from school, for that matter.

I sigh, watching Katniss's lips moving though I can't focus on the words that leave her lips until her hand rests on top of my own.

"We'll only do it if you want to," she promises. "I just... well I just thought, maybe it's something you should experience. You know, for bucket list reasons."

She gives a short little laugh and I follow her lead nervously before glancing back at the bike before me. Katniss is right, how can I go my entire life without trying? Katniss has never disappointed me before, never left my side, never hurt me. If I walk away from her now, I'll only be hurting myself.

I can't let a _bike_ win because of something as irrational as fear.

"Okay," I swallow.

"Okay?" she echoes and I nod.

"Okay, yes... Let's... do it."

Her smile grows broad, flashing every single one of her teeth and her eyes shine.

"Okay! Follow me!" she says enthusiastically. She leads me up past the park and past the tennis courts until we come to a valley of trees, directly in the middle lays a paved path.

"See? Complete privacy," Katniss guarantees, but I only faintly hear her over the sound of my heart rapidly beating in my chest.

"All right. Step One: Get on the bike."

"Wait, w-w-what?" I gasp. "Alr- already?"

Katniss lets out a nervous laugh. "Well you won't learn on the ground, now will you?"

"I just... well I just thought... maybe... you would... demonstrate first?"

Katniss rolls her eyes playfully and jumps up on top of the device, positioning herself comfortably.

"Hold onto it," she commands me gently, and I do as she says. She shows me body positions, how to maintain balance and where to place my feet.

"Now, let go."

"Let... go?" I whisper and she turns to me with a sideways smirk.

"Yes, whenever you're ready."

I let go of the bike slowly and in just seconds, she's off pedaling. She makes it look so simple, gliding effortlessly down the path, the sun shining the way for her through the trees. She goes a little ways down before turning back in my direction and pedaling the way back until she's right in front of me.

"You're going to love it," she assures me. "Are you ready?"

I give a gentle nod and she pats the seat three times, urging me to get on top.

"I... my leg..." I hardly whisper, as one last-ditch effort to back out, although I know it won't work. Katniss sighs, resting her hand on my arm and giving it a slight squeeze.

"Peeta, if you aren't ready, we can do something else today," her voice level matches my own. "But, I can assure you, you can do this... regardless of your leg."

No one has ever assured me I can do anything before Katniss, and the last time she assured me she had been right.

"Okay," I swallow once last time before wrapping my leg around the other side of the contraption and gripping the handles with needed force. They feel slippery under my grasp from the perspiration on my hands and I have to loosen my grip before tightening several times to make it comfortable.

"Don't... Don't let go," I tell her, panic lacing my tone.

"I won't," she says soothingly. "Put your feet on the pedals. I have you."

"B-b-but-"

"Peeta, it's all right. Just place your feet on the pedals. I have you."

I do as I'm told, placing my feet on the peddles, my entire body shaking with unexplained fear. Irrationally, I shut my eyes tightly, but when the sensation of falling never comes, I slowly open them. My entire body is tense, every muscle working hard to keep its position on the bike that Katniss made look effortless.

"Okay, good. Look at you, you're on a bike!" she praises.

"Can't celebrate... m-m-much... until I get... m-m-m-"

"Slow down," she encourages.

"Moving."

"Then let's get moving," she winks and before I can respond she's pushing the bike forward. My feet stutter at first, falling off the pedals and scrambling to find them again, but Katniss goes slow, giving me more than enough time to adjust to the feeling.

"See? All you do is move forward," she says as we slowly make our way down the path. I nod, beginning to pick up the pace slightly, which makes her laugh breathlessly.

"Good!" she encourages, before telling me to slow down to a stop. I place my good foot down on the ground and turn to her, not realizing my breaths are coming out in heavy pants until now.

"How was it?"

"It... it actually wasn't so... bad," I say with genuine surprise.

"See!" she exclaims. "Peeta, I know you can do anything you put your mind to. You worked hard to pass your classes, and you did. You're working hard on your speech and look how much you've improved! Now, you're going to learn how to ride this bike."

"Yeah... I... want to."

"I know you do."

"I'm surprised... I didn't know... you'd... remember," I say, bashfully. "It was... months ago... that we talked... about it."

"Yes, but I listen," Katniss says, her eyes studying me. "I remember the things you say to me."

We're silent for a long moment, studying one another. Her face is closer to mine than it's ever been before. So close, I can see the faint freckles that dance over the bridge of her nose, and the flicker of green her otherwise gray eyes hold. Her tongue darts past her parted lips to give them a gentle lick before she blinks, turning toward the ground with a hint of a blush.

I feel my own skin sting in return.

"Ready to try again?" she wonders out loud and I give a quick nod.

We try again.

And again.

And again.

Each time we try, the stretches of time we go without breaks increase, as does the speed, and the grip Katniss holds on it loosens just slightly.

"I think you're ready to try alone," Katniss says, panting gently from the exertion. "You're giving me a workout, that's for sure."

"You... think I can... do it?"

She shrugs her shoulders once, cocking her head to the right.

"What's the worst that'll happen if you can't?"

"I'll fall," I state flatly.

"Right. And you'll get back up and try again."

I'm silent.

"No one can hold onto that bike forever, Peeta," she says gently. "Soon, you'll just be going too fast."

I laugh which causes her to join in before tapping her hand against the steel bike handles, urging me back on.

"I'll keep hold of it to begin with," she promises. "But then, we'll try with me letting go."

"Okay," I breathe, barely audible.

And we're pedaling. Well, I'm pedaling but Katniss keeps a firm hold on the handles and the back of the seat, picking up a steady jog to keep in time with me. She doesn't tell me _when_ she lets go; I just notice she's not there running along side me. I'm not sure how long I've been going at it without her, but the revelation she isn't there, knowing that I'm doing this all on my own is equally freeing and empowering as it is nerve-wracking.

I fall.

"Peeta?"

Katniss's voice seems far away, and then I hear her feet running to where I lay on my back, bike half on top of me and sun blinding me as I move to cover my eyes.

But I've never felt so _alive_ before. So... incredibly _proud_ of myself before. Because look how long it's taking her to get to me - hell, I must have been going at it for ages!

"Peeta?" she says again, her voice on the edge of hysteria. "Oh God, are you all right? You were doing so well, I just thought maybe it was time to let you try on your own. I hope you're not hurt-"

I cut her words off with an impossibly loud laugh and Katniss stares at me for a good long minute as if I've lost my mind. Her eyebrows furrow down and her lips twist up in confusion. She's all scrunched up toward the ground next to me, but falls down onto her butt and joins in laughing when I refuse to stop. I can't properly see I'm laughing so much - and this isn't even that funny, really. I just feel so _good._

"I want... to try... again," I inform her, once our laughing has died down into heavy breaths.

"All right, all right, but don't you think that's enough for today? Can't have you breaking your good leg."

She eyes me cautiously, as if testing the waters, her eyes silently wondering if it's all right. This is the first time she's mentioned my leg (to me at least) and although a small part of me is mortified, embarrassed that she remembers, a larger part of me is relieved.

Because if she's bringing it up, she must not care.

"I thought... you said... I could trust you," I tease right back and her smile increases, as does the beautiful shade of pink on her cheeks.

She's incredibly close again, closer even then she was a while ago when we were staring. She's just staring again, but this time her hand reaches out to touch the top of my head. She pushes back the sticky hairs that lay scattered on my forehead before lightly scratching it with her fingers.

It feels insanely good, so good all the light around me begins to subtly fade until all I see is darkness.

"You can," she whispers and my eyes dart open to face her.

"I know."

"Peeta?" she breathes. The arm supporting her weight lays on the other side of my body, so she's sort of leaning over the top of me, but her other hand is still resting in my hair.

"Y-y-y-es?" I stutter out, nervously, because although I find it highly improbable, I have a feeling I know where this is going.

"You can kiss me, if you want," she mentions. Her eyes are focused right below mine, and for a moment I think it's on my lips, but before I can focus on it they dart up to meet mine. They hold the same uncertainty I'm sure mine do.

My heart feels like it might jump clear out of my chest, and my shaking hands do a poor job of keeping me in a sitting position.

"I... I..." I swallow heavily, offering her a sideways half-smirk. "What if it's... b-b-bad?"

Her small hand detangles itself from my hair and comes to rest around my neck. I'm sure she can feel my veins pumping in time with my rapid heart and the sweat that trickles down from the back of my head.

Surprisingly quick, before I've even had the chance to swallow once more, her lips are meeting my own. Her eyes are shut, but I only know this because mine are open, and they only widen as she deepens her lips on my own before pulling away.

I don't move a muscle, afraid to wake up and have this be a horrible (horribly wonderful) dream, or waiting for people with cameras to pop out and start laughing.

But neither situation happens. All that happens is Katniss sits up straighter and uses the hand that had been supporting her to push back a piece of stubborn hair. She had been leaning so much weight on the hand that it's red and indented from rocks and grass beneath her.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

My mouth could catch flies the way it slacks, but I'm beyond coherency. All I can think about is her lips._  
_

_Katniss Everdeen just kissed me._

"Peeta?"

"I... t-t-thank you," I breathe.

She bites her lip, a gesture that looks suspiciously like she's trying to keep from laughing, but instead she plays with the small hairs on the back of my neck.

"Now you kiss me."

I only hesitate for a moment, my head bobbing back and forth before I finally lean forward enough to connect our lips once more. Kissing feels weird, but it's the kind of weird I never want to stop experiencing, so when her soft lips pull away I almost pout.

"Thank you," she echoes.

* * *

Thank you for reading everyone! All your reviews, story alerts/favorite adds are very much appreciated and I can't wait to hear from you again.

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	14. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Thank you to fnur and misshoneywell for all their help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

With another week of summer already behind us, it's hard to believe it's nearly August. The summer has flown by with all the time I've been spending with Katniss and as the days draw closer to the end of summer, we only seem to spend more time with one another.

Since the day Katniss taught me about riding bikes (and so much more), we've been nearly inseparable. The days neither of us has to work are spent in each other's company from late morning to early evening, and it seems even when we're working, we find ways to sneak visits to one another.

Rye has asked me several times if we're dating, but I tell him no each time. I'm not sure what we're doing. We've kissed multiple times since the day at the park, but Katniss has never talked about bringing the relationship to the next level. So when Rye asks, I simply shrug, telling him "we're what we are and that's that."

He laughs, telling me that's code for "we aren't dating." I'm not sure why this infuriates me so much, but it does. I guess it's because I _do_ wish we were dating.

I just don't know how to ask. Or what we'd even do if we were "dating."

I shake the thought from my mind, because today is going to be a good day and I don't want that tainted by feelings of insecurity.

Today, I've decided, it's time to share something special with Katniss. Since the beginning of spring, Katniss has shown and taught me so many different things - things I'm sure I can never fully repay her for, but I'm willing to try.

It takes me a while to come up with my plan because I wanted it to be something special, something so she'd know how much I've grown to really trust her.

When I finally decided on what that would be, I asked Katniss to meet me at my house but not to bring her car. She agrees without question and I wait outside on my porch until I see her biking down the road, and I stand up to greet her. The sun has just started to set, illuminating the sky different shades of orange and yellow.

She swings one leg over the side of her bike and allows it to crash in the grass before jogging the rest of the way to meet me in the gravel driveway. Before I can say anything to her, she leans up on her tip-toes and hooks an arm behind my head, capturing me in a kiss.

"Hi," she speaks against my lips, breathlessly. Although I enjoy the feeling of her lips against mine and her body pressed tightly to my own, my nerves outweigh any other emotion and I tug on her arm, urging her to come around to the side of the house before Mother sees us outside the front window.

She shouldn't see us. She's been in bed all day again. Typically, lethargy would be an unfortunate side effect to the depression Mother suffers, but since it's Mother and no one else, it's rather fortunate for me that she's been stuck in one of her spells lately. I'm not sure what brought it on, really. In fact, I assumed she was sick with a virus until Father told me it was this type of sickness.

"I've been thinking about what you had to show me all day," Katniss tells me just as we pass the bushes my small bird had been hiding inside of before its rescue.

"I um... hope you... like it," I swallow and she grips my hand tighter. It's shaking, I realize, when I drop my gaze down to meet our entwined fingers. I try apologizing but Katniss immediately assures me there's nothing to apologize for, and she's sure she'll love it.

"We will... uhh... have to be... q-q-quiet," I warn her as we walk up the wooden steps leading to the side entrance into the bakery.

"My mother..." I begin explaining when she says nothing in return. One hand is on the handle to the door when I turn to meet her eyes. "She's ill right n-n-now... so we must... that's why."

"No problem," Katniss whispers back almost inaudibly with a wink. I smile to her and then turn the handle, letting us both inside. We tip-toe through the dark bakery's kitchen and into the hallway of the house. I'm not sure where Rye is, or Father honestly, but neither of them are in sight as I lead Katniss up the stairs and into my bedroom.

Once my door is shut, so quietly _I_ can't even hear it as it closes, I turn to Katniss with a thumbs up. My heart is still beating rapidly inside my chest, forcing my breaths to come out labored and harsh although I try swallowing them. I know it's risky, bringing Katniss here. If Mother were to see her, I'm not sure what would happen exactly. But, I _need _to share this with Katniss and it's much easier sneaking her in then them out.

I notice Katniss glancing around and shift awkwardly on my feet. My room is rather bare. Not homey at all. Everything has a place and an order to it. It's small; hardly room for either of us to navigate without bumping into one another and I finally make a motion for her to take a seat wherever she'd like.

She opts for the floor, sitting with her legs crossed over one another and hands tucked neatly on top.

"I'm ready for my surprise," she whispers excitedly and I grin. I'm happy she's excited, even if it does only cause nerves to swell up inside of me again. Right as I go to reach inside the drawer and pull out the first drawing I have in mind for sharing with her, my small bird rustles lightly underneath the bed.

It takes Katniss by surprise and I see her jump, squinting her eyes to make out what's underneath before turning to me in confusion. My cheeks burn on my face as I lower myself to the ground and pull out the box.

"Uh oh um... I don't think I e-e-ever told y-y-you..." with the stress of the situation, my stutter is back in full swing and I can see Katniss raise an eyebrow up at me. "I uh... I found this g-g-g-guy in my uh y-y-yard. He hurt his wing and h-h-his family a-a-abandoned him. So I um... I-"

"You adopted him," she finishes for me.

"Yes," I say, pulling out the small bird from the box. Katniss moves forward, leaning her weight on her knees to glance inside before I pull it out.

"Oh my goodness," she chuckles to herself. "He's cute. How come he's in a box?"

I explain the entire situation with Mother to Katniss. About how if she found out, she wouldn't be the happiest since she's not a huge fan of animals. But I couldn't let something happen to it, so it's been a secret between Rye and me.

"Does he have a name?"

"Well..." I start before shaking my head with a silent no. I had always just called it the baby bird. My baby bird. Only he wasn't exactly a baby anymore. Not big enough to be fully grown, but not the small and beaten-down thing I found tangled in the bushes what feels like forever ago.

"We'll have to name him sometime," she grinned. "But first, the surprise. I'm getting anxious," she admitted with a giggle.

I couldn't help but join in her enthusiasm with a chuckle, before placing the small bird inside its box of a home and moving over to the other side where my dresser sits. I turn to chance a glance at her and she sends me a crooked smile, the kind that makes my chest tighten almost painfully because it's just so beautiful.

I can feel my heartbeat accelerating as I slip open the top drawer and move around the pairs of socks and underwear that litter it. Underneath is my notebook, where I keep it hidden in case Mother was ever to wander into mine and Rye's bedroom.

The notebook feels heavy in my hand as I shut the drawer with the other and turn to Katniss. She looks to me, truly perplexed, her eyes falling from the notepad, back up to me, and then down again. She doesn't speak, she just watches silently until I land (rather ungracefully) down beside her.

I'm not sure _how_ to show her, and we both know I'm rather mediocre with my words, so after a long and awkward pause, I sort of _flop_ the book into her crossed legs and turn in the other direction, running a hand over my neck sheepishly.

I hear the sound of rustling papers, but Katniss doesn't say a word. Maybe they aren't as good as I've thought them to be. I mean, it's not like I ever thought they were outstanding or better than anything anyone else could draw, I just... _really like drawing._

It would kind of suck for the girl I _really_ like to tell me I _really_ suck at something else I _really_ like.

"Peeta," she breathes a minute later, and I'm brave enough to chance a glance at her. Her eyes are already trained on me, wide with what appears to be awe, but her fingers have yet to flip past the first page - which is blank.

I swallow heavily, my head tilting to the side just slightly in silent question.

"You trust me?" she asks almost inaudibly.

"I..." I pause. "Of course... I do."

The corners of her lips twist up into a grin and she holds my eyes for a long time before dipping back down, trailing her fingertips over the jagged edges of the book.

Her breath catches at the sight of the first drawing, an overview of the town from my typical writing spot on the rooftop. She points out small details with her finger, releasing small giggles or more intakes of breaths before quickly turning the pages again and again.

She doesn't look up at me, but as she continues to flip through, I watch her with a worried and plastered smile that slowly begins to melt into a genuine one.

She takes out some of the loose ones, spreading them across the floor in front of her to compare and contrast before flipping through the book again.

_She likes them, _I find myself thinking with a mix of excitement and disbelief. _I can't believe she actually likes them! What was I so worried about? I can't even remember anymore, all I know is that-_

"-I remember," she says quietly, snapping me out of my haze.

"You... remember?"

She nods. "The picture you drew for me, like, _years_ ago. After my father died."

My stomach twisted in knots at the mention of it, and I blink rapidly for a long minute.

"Really?" I ask dumbly, because _of course_ really, that's why she brought it up. She just nods her head before pushing a piece of hair back behind her ear and smiling at me, biting the corner of her bottom lip.

"I still have it. In my bedroom. It... it meant a lot to me."

"You k-k-kept it?" I ask, eyes widening and she laughs gently, nodding her head more vigorously.

"Of course I kept it," she breathes, placing the book down on the ground and scooting herself closer to me. Her knee bumps mine and one of her hands rests in my own limp one.

"I remember thinking it was beautiful, and I don't know... calming?" she says in a hushed tone, her free hand snaking up and around my neck willing me to move closer into her. I don't hesitate before leaning my weight inward, immediately being met with the warm pressure of her lips.

Her eyes flutter shut after a long second of staring at one another and I follow her lead, gently closing mine and giving into the feelings rising in us. The small puffs of breath she lets out through her nose tickle the edge of my face and upper lip, and I let out a small and embarrassing noise of approval before my shaky hands reach out to grasp either side of her hips. Her hand continues to curl around my head, the other resting on the center of my thigh - which does nothing to ease the stirrings I feel building up inside my jeans. I tilt my hips as far away from her as possible, hoping she won't notice the way they involuntarily buck when she bites tenderly on my lower lip.

This is the longest we've ever kissed (not that we have a long history of kissing to begin with) and definitely the most passionate. Katniss takes my not pulling away as a green light to move further, and dips her head to the side of my chin, trailing it with kisses when we pull apart for a breath.

Mine is shallow, coming out in deep, gasping pants and I'm sure she can feel the way I'm quivering beneath her ministrations. My hands stay firmly planted on her hips and I paint tiny circles on the bone there with my thumb, unknowingly causing her to squirm as well.

I've never imagined it being like this. _How could I _when the reality of the moment has exceeded anything I could have possibly dreamed up? The heat of her body close to mine is warmer, the small _pop _of her wet lips pecking my skin is much sweeter and the whole electrical pulse that drums throughout my body is _definitely_ more intense than I remember imagining.

"Ughn," I release without realizing and my cheeks immediately flush darker from embarrassment. Katniss glances up as my body goes rigid and smiles, pushing the small pieces of hair that have fallen into my eyes back.

"You are so wonderful," she breathes and I don't remember anyone ever telling me that before. It's enough to make the grimace of embarrassment melt into a half smile before I turn toward the floor. She straightens her crumpled shirt out, once my hands drift from their hold on her and attempt covering the bulge that has settled between my legs.

She glances down a couple times while I subtly try adjusting myself and I swear when our eyes meet, hers darken (along with her cheeks) before she turns away with a blink.

"Thank you," she says when silence has over taken us. The sun is nearly down, and in its place a midnight blue sky with just splashes of sunlight which refuses to disappear quite yet.

"I know it's hard for you to open up to people. To let your guard down. I'm just happy it was me you chose."

I open my mouth to respond, but it immediately goes dry as a cold sweat breaks out along my back. My ears strain and my entire body goes rigid.

"Pee-"

"Shhh," I say with an edge I don't mean. She silences alongside me and one moment later I hear the creaking of footsteps on the old wooden floor.

I feel like I might throw up.

"Hide," I tell her urgently. There is no time for her to escape through the window or to think of a better plan or explanation. I'm not even positive if the steps belong to Mother, but I cannot risk the chance. Not with Katniss.

Katniss looks to me startled and tries to speak, but I cover a hand over her lips, my eyes urging - _pleading_ -with her to get into the closet.

She does as I ask, stumbling over herself in confusion before crouching into my small closet, leaving the door open just a sliver of a crack.

In my haste to get Katniss hidden away safely, I had completely forgotten my paintings and drawings and rush to throw them somewhere they can be hidden, but it's too late.

There's only about a two second anticipatory pause before Mother bursts into the room, her arms crossed over one another. Her eyes look softer than normal for a split second before she takes in the image of me crouched on the floor, shoving papers under my dresser.

They narrow and she clenches her jaw in a terrifying way. Her mouth opens, and I can tell she's speaking, but all I hear is the rapid thumping of my heart inside my chest and panting breaths escaping my mouth.

"Peeta!" she shouts, throwing my focus off. Her voice is sharp and angered. "You worthless son of a bitch, answer me!"

But I hadn't heard the question. I'm floundering, stuttering forth a hundred "I's" before finally she cuts me off, lunging forward to catch my face in between her boney fingers. She scrunches my cheeks, making it impossible to talk and digs her fingernails into them painfully.

"You are pathetic," she hisses, and all I can think is that Katniss must be thinking the same thing from where she sits inside the closet. "You are worthless and pathetic and you do not listen to me! Are you not appreciative for everything I do for you? Is that it?"

I open my mouth and she smacks me hard across the face, pulling my hair to the point of pain so that my neck is craned back as far as it can go.

"What have I told you about _drawings_ and _pictures_?!" she snaps.

"Th-they are... th- th-"

"They're pointless!" she seethes. "Like you!"

Her foot connects with my ribcage, knocking the wind clear from my lungs and then as I'm hunched to one side in pain, she takes a shot to my groin. I'm hunched in a ball - pathetic and weak just as she had described me - and feel the tears begin to seep from my eyes unintentionally. I gasp out for breath, my entire body stinging, and attempt to blink away the fat beads of water that run down my cheek. The last thing I need is for her to see the effect she already knows she has on me.

When I glance back up, Mother is standing still, two or three of my drawings in her hands.

"This is how you spend your free time?" she laughs in sheer delight. "And to think you thought you had any chance with that slut you're always hanging around with. You think she wants you? The boy who can't even fight off his old, sick _mother? _You are weak and you've always been that way. Perhaps it was my own fault. I always _pampered_ you so much as an infant. How was I to know it would turn you into such a sissy man!?"

I turn away, shoving my head into the carpet below me because she's right, she's right, of course. And Katniss is here to witness the entire thing.

Part of me, a small false hope that is deeply rooted inside my mind, sits there wishing that there is the faintest possibility this is a dream. That I'll wake up and realize what a horrible idea this entire thing had been.

The word humiliated doesn't even begin to describe the feelings welling up within me.

There have been moments in my life where I wouldn't have minded dying. Times I've cried myself to sleep, praying to God to just _take me_ to just end everything before morning came. Moments where I'd see the train tracks on the outskirts of town and entertain the thought of jumping out in front of them.

_It'd be quick. And no one would miss me anyway._

But I had never thought about dying as much as at this very moment. It was like a chant inside of my head that I just continue to wail over and over.

_Kill me, kill me, kill me, kill me please. NOW! _

"Get up!" Mother shouts, and before she can say it again I shakily lift myself to my feet. She pulls on my shirt, shaking me roughly before telling me to collect every single piece of paper that was scattered along the floor.

My heart dropped.

_Please, no._

"M-m-m-mother-"

Her leg dips between mine and wraps around my prosthetic before I can even register what is happening and pulls. I land with a loud thump on my ass and wince in pain.

"Do not talk back to me!" she exclaims. "Do it. Now."

I do. Because I am truly pathetic, I scoot along the floor, protesting against my sore body with every ounce of movement and pick up all my drawings, handing them over to her. She looks them over like she had with the other three, in disgust, before she began tearing them into minuscule shreds.

"No! No Mother, _please_!" I beg on my knees in front of her, watching as the bits of paper fall in front of my face like snow. My chest is heaving - hyperventilating - as she tears out paper after paper from my notebook, shreds them into pieces beyond saving and moves onto the next until finally there is no next and they are all gone.

Every. Single. One.

"You gave me no choice," she sniffs, her voice eerily calm. "Pick up this fucking mess."

Without another word, she shuts the door tightly behind her and disappears. Her footsteps sound heavier down the hallway and I don't realize I'm holding my breath until her door slams shut and I release it with a choking sob.

My fingers dance through the bits of paper and I can't even tell what they were _supposed_ to be. She's ruined _years_ of work in a matter of minutes. I feel like I can't breathe.

I sob. For a long time, I sit there with my arms wrapped around my middle and just cry because I don't know what else to do. They're more frustrated tears than anything else, but a couple of them are out of pure sadness. Because there is a twinge of reality to Mother's words I cannot deny.

Katniss stays in the closet for a long time, until my broken cries turn into quiet sniffles. I had forgotten she was in there, so when the closet door begins to move, I flinch involuntarily.

Her own eyes are rimmed red and seem impossibly sadder when she sees the movement. My cheeks redden now that she's in front of me, and I have confirmation that of course she's heard every word. I didn't think it was possible to feel smaller than I had a moment ago but, alas, anything is possible.

"Peeta," she begins, but I cut her off with the shake of my head.

"Please," I beg, my voice cracking. "Just go."

She doesn't fight it, only nods as I explain how to safely escape through the window. She glances back at me one more time before descending through, but perhaps Mother was right about me being weak because I'm not strong enough to meet her gaze.

Katniss's words from earlier launch themselves in my brain, almost tauntingly.

_You are so wonderful, _they laugh and spit and swirl around in my mind until I'm physically shaking my head, as if urging them to come out.

Katniss was wrong. So, so wrong.

I am anything but wonderful.

* * *

"Where are we going?"

Three days had passed since the incident in my bedroom. I was beginning to think Katniss was having second thoughts about our relationship when she called to ask if I minded meeting her at her home. Of course, I immediately threw my shoes on and was out the door, mixed feelings of excitement and anguish filling my gut on the trek over.

When I rapped on her door, it only took a knock and a half for her to answer, and she pushed her way outside, shutting the door behind her and motioning for me to get into her car with her. Now, we're sitting parked toward the outskirts of town on a gravel path leading into the woods.

She yanks her door open and steps out before peaking back in at my bewildered expression.

"Follow me," she hedged and immediately I stood out of the car.

We walk down the gravel path a ways before descending into the forest, the tall grass scraping against the sleeves of my pants. The ground is uneven and I trip over my prosthetic a couple of times before Katniss takes my hand in hers, offering me silent help.

She gives a tight squeeze before leading the way deeper in.

For a while, we don't talk and the look of concentration she wears does little to ease my nerves. I wonder to myself if she's planning to let me down today. To tell me I have too much baggage for her to help carry and we need to stop hanging out. The idea pains me, like a knife twisting in my side, but I wouldn't blame her.

Not after what she witnessed yesterday.

Or at Starbucks.

Or school.

I sigh, louder than I mean to and Katniss mumbles that we're almost there.

I'm out of breath by the time Katniss stops in the center of a small clearing deep in the woods and turns to me with an uneven smile.

"I wanted to share this with you," she says quietly. "Since you shared something important to you with me."

Her hand, entwined with mine drops and she hops over the last patch of high grass, landing near a small stream. The water runs clear, washing away some leaves and twigs that have fallen in it and Katniss balances on top of a damp rock before jumping to the other side into the shallow grass.

She motions for me to follow her and slowly, much less gracefully I join her with a thud.

She spins her finger through the plush grass, refusing to meet my gaze.

"My father," she begins, clearing her throat. "He used to take Prim and I here all the time. I'm not sure how he found it, but we spent some of our best Saturday afternoons picnicking here."

I'm silent as she speaks, and all the concern for our budding friendship begins to melt away. She wouldn't be telling me this personal stuff, showing me these personal things if she didn't have an interest in continuing our friendship. Or whatever kind of relationship it is that we have.

"I learned to swim in that stream," she kind of chortles before biting her lip with the shake of her head. "I haven't been here in _months. _Somehow it's just... more depressing alone. Too silent and eerie."

I can understand how she could feel that way. I can't say I enjoy the idea of her wandering the woods all by herself either. Images of something happening, her crying out for help but no one hearing flash through my mind and I shudder slightly.

"I'm... happy you... didn't... come alone," I manage, rubbing the skin right above where my aching prosthetic connects tenderly.

"Me too," she says and then swallows. We're silent for a while and I watch as she glances around the forest, as if she's looking for something to say.

The sun is shaded by the large oak trees, and around us, birds hum soft tunes.

"Hey, Peeta?" she asks and I swear her voice holds a hint of a quiver.

"Y-y-es?" I answer, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Um... I know this is probably the last thing you want to talk about right now," she begins and my stomach flip-flops inside of me. I feel nauseous from the nervousness in her tone. She's right. I absolutely, positively do not feel like talking about my mother right now.

But, I knew this conversation would come sometime or another.

"But, you have to know that I can't just ignore what I saw the other day."

I'm quiet. What else is new?

"I've... been thinking about it for the past couple of days. I wanted to give you time also, you know, to yourself to... figure things out. I didn't want to overstep my boundaries."

"I missed... you," I tell her honestly.

"I missed you too," she breathes. "But Peeta, the things your mother said to you, the way she treated you. That... isn't right. You know that isn't right! She can't do that, Peeta."

"It's... it's not always... l-l-l-l-"

"Calm down," she says soothingly and I close my eyes, breathing through my mouth like Katniss taught me.

"It's not... always... like that," I promise her, though I'm sure the twinge of guilt from lying is evident in my voice. "The other day... she was... under a lot of..."

"_Peeta," _Katniss sighs, rubbing her temple. "Listen to me. It doesn't _matter_ if it's not always like that. The fact of the matter is she should _never_ speak to you like that. She's your mother. But the way she talked to you, the things she said-" she cuts herself off with the shake of her head.

"I've been worried sick about you."

"Katniss..." I breathe, unsure of what to say. She leans in toward my body, resting her head on my shoulder and wrapping her arm that's closer to me around my back.

"Don't be... worried," I whisper to her. "There's no-nothing to... worry about. I promise."

"Has she always been such a witch?" she asks into my shoulder and I shrug gently. I'm sure she remembers the incident that happened so long ago in the bakery, the day before she left me the dandelion at my desk, when Mother smacked me clear to the floor.

I'm sure she already knows the answer, that although it hasn't been going on my entire life, it's been going on for too long. Long enough to have affected my entire outlook on life and my personality.

Long enough to have drowned out the memories of what it used to be like, until they seemed like only distant dreams or stories.

"We were... in a c-c-car... accident," I find myself speaking before my brain has given permission. Katniss sits up to look at me, but her prying eyes seem like too much. I'm too embarrassed about the situation. It feels like my whole body is turning numb.

Katniss notices the way I stop and turn to the ground, and watches me for a long moment before bending her legs into her body.

"Here, I have an idea," she says gently, scooting her body until her back is facing me. I watch her perplexed until she looks over her shoulder, fiddling with the edge of her braid. "Now you turn your back to me. It might be easier that way."

I swallow a lump that forms in my throat at her suggestion, and nod my head although I know she cannot see me, turned in the opposite direction. I scoot until my back presses against hers, and I exhale deeply.

"I... I don't remember..." I trail off, running a hand through my hair. I tilt my head back and Katniss must do the same because the backs of them brush before she releases a gentle reminder about the car accident.

Oh, right.

"It h-h-happened when... I was... four," I start, staring down at the ball of shaking limbs before me. I take several deep breaths before continuing about how Mother woke me late at night, urging me to come with her quietly. I remember her soft voice, the delicate smile she'd share with me as she ran a hand over the top of my head and told me for the second time to be quiet.

It hadn't occurred to me until I was much older that Mother planned to leave and _that_ was why we were living in the dead of night, quietly. She was hoping to simply sneak off. I never could figure out though why she'd choose to take me over Rye or Bannock.

Well anyway, it was my fault we never ended up getting away. My fault I was making a big deal about not being buckled, my fault Mother turned around to comfort my tears, my fault she lost control of the car.

Mine.

"And that's how you lost your leg?" Katniss asks, startling me for a moment. I had been so absorbed in my own thoughts I had completely forgotten about her presence. She was right about the back to back thing working.

I only nod my head.

From the corner of my eye, I see her hands blindly searching for mine and I place them down to my sides. A moment later, she connects hers with mine and gives the palms a tight squeeze.

"And... that's why... she's l-l-like that," I murmur, eyes closed. "It's... my fault."

"Peeta, none of that is your fault," there's an edge to Katniss's voice I haven't heard before. One that worries me because she sounds angry. Though, I can't decipher who it's directed toward.

"And if she makes you feel like it is, like a car accident that happened when you were _four_ is your fault, she has some serious problems, Peeta. Problems that should be medicated."

"She... she's been... sick, since the a-a-accident," I don't know why I'm defending her. I know what she does is wrong. I know it's her fault I have little to no self esteem left (the small bit I've accumulated from Katniss completely disintegrated due to the debacle a few nights ago.)

"It's no excuse," Katniss insists. "Can you face me now?"

I hesitate, but when I feel her body turn toward mine and peek over my shoulder to see her staring, I reluctantly turn to her with stinging cheeks.

"It _wasn't_ your fault," she tells me slowly and distinctly before wrapping her arms around my neck tightly. I don't wait to return the hug, sinking my face into the dip between her shoulder and neck and breathing in heavily before sighing.

"P-p-promise?"

She nods her head.

"I swear to you. But Peeta, I need you to promise me that if it happens again, you'll tell me or someone. I don't like it at all. It infuriates me-"

"W-w-why are you sticking... up for... me?" I cut her off in question, pulling back from the hug to study her eyes carefully. I can feel my eyebrows pulled down, wrinkling the skin at the bridge of my nose, and a tint of pink laces Katniss's cheeks.

"I don't know," she says softly. "Maybe it's because... I care about you, Peeta. A lot."

"Y-y-you do?"

I know she's shown it a million and one ways already, but to hear it on her lips, admitting that she cares for me not just a little but _a lot _has my heart rate climbing near dangerous heights.

"Of course," she says staring down at the ground.

Her admission has me feeling braver than moments ago, and with so much uncertainty floating around in the air, I find myself wondering where it is we stand exactly. By now, we've shared several kisses, but Katniss has made no move to advance our relationship so neither had I, not wanting to pressure nor scare her.

But now... I have to wonder.

My lips are asking the question before I have time to over think it, and it comes out in a nearly inaudible squeak.

"What... are we... d-d-doing, Katniss?"

Her deep gray eyes lift up to meet mine, and she chews on her bottom lip for a long minute before tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Whatever it is that you're ready for," she says finally. "Though I feel inclined to let you know, I wouldn't exactly mind being more than friends."

The corners of my mouth lift up into a smile which she returns almost immediately, giggling gently.

"I... I wouldn't m-m-mind that... either," I breathe.

"Well, are you going to ask me officially?"

_Duh._

Although it's basically set in stone now, I still feel my heart thumping loudly in my chest and my hands shake as they reach out to grab ahold of Katniss's.

"K-k-Katniss?"

"Yes, Peeta?"

"Will you b-b-be my uh... girlfriend?"

Her lips dance across mine, gently, almost as if it had been the wind. When my eyes reopen she's smiling back at me, pushing the hair out from my eyes.

"Gladly."

* * *

Thank you for reading and all the wonderful support I've received through reviews and adds to story alert/favorite lists. That means a lot to me. I typically try responding to every review sent to me, but as of late I've been having some things going on in RL that has kept me from doing that. I hope to respond to everyone's reviews this time around but just know it's greatly appreciated and I enjoy it very much!

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	15. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

A big thanks to my beta fnur for her hard work on this chapter. Also to yourpeetaisshowing for his help and kind words!

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

Katniss could kiss me a hundred thousand more times and I think my heart would still stutter with each one. My stomach would still feel like it was about to come out of my mouth and my breathing would continue to quicken to dangerous heights.

There are some things that never change, and I am fairly certain that is one of them.

We've been up in Katniss's room for over an hour now. The house is silent besides the soft sucking noises of our lips colliding. Prim is off with a couple friends for the afternoon and as usual, Katniss's mother is off at work.

We're supposed to be studying. Littered along the bedspread below us and scattered all over the floor are the abandoned note cards Katniss has made up with words and phrases for me to attempt saying "stutter-free."

Katniss lips break away from my own with a soft breath and as I lean in to trail a kiss along the edge of her jaw, her breath catches and she pulls my head away, attempting to appear stern.

"Peeta," she urges. "We need to practice."

"But I-I-I want to... k-k-kiss my... girlfriend," I attempt teasing, though the fact that I can't get through the sentence without stuttering only testifies against me.

Katniss's eyes soften at my words nonetheless and she runs her thumb over my cheek gently.

"Girlfriend," she tries the word out, and it sounds nice on her lips. "_Boyfriend," _she says with emphasis, winking at me.

It's been a few weeks since we've made things official between us in the woods, and it seems as though summer is coming to a close rather quickly. Just three and a half weeks until school starts back up for the fall semester. But, I don't like to think about it too much because it only ends up worrying me.

So much has changed since we got out of school in June. And although I obviously know Katniss enjoys spending her time with me, and likes me a lot, I can't help but feel like when school begins again, things will have to change.

I haven't brought up these fears to her yet. Every time I try, I feel silly and think she might get mad at me for questioning the way things are going between us. Which is the last thing I need.

Katniss kisses me firmly once more but pulls away before I have the chance to deepen it. I groan softly, turning to look up at her pleadingly. There's a wicked glint in her darkened orbs.

"Tell me," she says demandingly.

I stare at her confused, my eyebrows knitting downward. "...Tell you?"

"Tell me, stutter free, that you'd like to kiss me," she insists, crossing her arms over her middle and raising an eyebrow up in my direction.

Mine furrow before the turned down edges of my mouth lift up into a large smile, matching hers.

"Katniss, I-I-"

"Nope," she smirks. "Start over. Tell me what you want, Peeta."

I'm silent.

"_Katniss, I want to kiss my girlfriend,"_ she hedges, making her voice deep to attempt matching mine. I chuckle, shaking out my sweaty hands and trying to convince myself there is _no reason to feel nervous._

I take a deep breath. Katniss is patient with me, not sighing in annoyance or trying to get me to hurry but simply sitting across from me in silence, waiting.

_The worst that can happen is I mess up, _I think to myself. _Then, I'll just try again._

"Katniss," I begin, trying to appear confident. "I... want... to kiss... my..." I take another pause, breathing in deeply before exhaling, "girlfriend."

"Well," she smirks, unfolding her arms as sign of more open posture. "Kiss me, then."

I'm happy to oblige.

Our lips collide, dancing against one another as my arms weave around her middle, pulling her in closer to me. A few weeks ago, I would have stiffened as Katniss's tongue probed for entry at mine, but today when she does it, my mouth opens automatically, allowing her tongue inside, swirling around playfully.

She shifts her weight so that her chest grazes my own and her hands find the back of my neck, pulling me impossibly closer to her. My hands tighten their grip on her hips and she lets out the faintest mewling sound from the back of her throat, which causes an involuntary moan to dislodge from mine.

"Peeta," she breathes, daring to part our lips. "You're awfully distracted today."

"Y-y-you're awfully d-d-distracing... today," I retort teasingly, my words coming out as panted breaths.

"Am I?" she smirks, her eyes seeming to darken as her pupils grow wider. She trails her fingernails over my chest delicately and I suck in a breath as they drop lower than I expect, grazing the skin above my belly button. I can only nod in response to her question, my eyes watching her busy fingers nervously.

Her hand trails up to where my heart beats heavily underneath my skin and she notes the erratic pattern it's adopted. The corners of her lips turn up into a knowing smile before she bites the inside of her lip, studying me.

"Peeta?" she asks, her voice sing-song like. "I don't still make you _nervous_, do I?"

"N-n-no, Katniss," I shake my head, as if trying to convince myself more than her. "Of c-c-course not."

"Hmm," she hums, "Your heartbeat disagrees with you," she smirks.

Her fingers dip again trailing my belly button through the cotton of my shirt. I gasp before I can stop it, feeling a familiar tightening in my gut and swelling in-between my legs with her deliberate movements.

I'm sure she can feel it, the way her body is nestled in between my legs. But, if she does she doesn't say anything about it, only presses a firm kiss to my chin and along the sides of my lips - close enough that I can _almost_ feel it with just enough pressure to drive me insane.

Her tongue pokes past her lips and she delicately begins painting trails over my skin, her hot breath lingering even once her movements have passed. Her hand that isn't busy caressing my chest curls around my neck, scratching her fingernails over it gently as she continues her tease.

Mine float in the air, because no matter where I set them it seems... wrong. Their spot on the bed has me wondering if she thinks I'm not into it, but placing them on her almost seems too forward. With one more delectable swipe of her tongue over my teeth, my hands act on their own accord and grab hold of either side of her head, pulling her roughly against me.

She squeals, and I don't even have time to wonder if it was in dismay because all I can think about is the way her tiny hands tighten around the material of my shirt and how nice and _soft_ her breasts feel up against me and how her breathing turns just slightly more erratic when I run my thumbs behind the sensitive skin of her ears.

"Peeta," she breaks the kiss to breathe and I can't help the sound that breaks through my throat. Her eyes seem to twinkle with new found courage and slowly, never breaking our gaze, her hand lowers itself until the tips of her fingers pass over the button leading to my jeans.

I jump in response to the movement and her jerks her hand away quickly, her cheeks flaming red.

"I... I'm sorry," she says, breathing still ragged. "I should have known to ask you first. I don't want to take things too fast and freak you out."

My eyes were still wide as a deer caught in headlights by her boldness, and I found myself wondering if this was her first time doing this sort of thing. I had always just assumed - never seen her walking the hallways at school with anyone other than Gale Hawthorne who was obviously just her buddy - but maybe it was wrong of me to assume.

Katniss is a fairly popular girl, although quiet and reserved by nature, she's rather well-known and has probably tested her boundaries a couple of different times over the years.

I swallow heavily at the thought but blink rapidly as Katniss says my name once more, snapping me out of my gaze with her hardly audible voice.

"Umm..." I begin, running a hand over the back of my head. "I-I-I... don't... _not _want... I-I-I mean! Um... ugh."

I feel my cheeks heat up as I try to properly explain what the hell it _is_ that I want, but isn't this the way it always goes?

Katniss knows. She takes my hand in her own and gives it a soft squeeze, a gesture I've found calming ever since she first began doing it back in June. She trails her thumb over the veins that bulge over the back of my palm and smiles genuinely up at me.

"What do you want?" she asks, biting the bottom of her lip as she waits for a reply. My eyes break away from her own to begin my own trail down her chest, across where our bodies sit still entwined and finally resting on my lap where an obvious tent shows no signs of wilting.

As her eyes follow my gaze it throbs in anticipation as she licks the corner of her lips.

"Tell me," she hedges, moving back to play with the bottom of my shirt. My Adam's apple bobs as I watch her make her way underneath it before she flattens her palm along my flesh, rubbing tenderly.

"Ahh, um," I try before clearing my throat. But can only focus on the fact that her fingers are literally _centimeters_ from being where I'd like them to be, and I'm too afraid to tell her.

Of course I know we've been building up to this. It's something that's sort of expected now that we've become as serious as we are about one another, but my tongue feels swollen inside my mouth and I can't form a coherent thought - let alone sentence.

"But remember," Katniss sings, her eyes unwilling to meet mine and a blush creeping to her cheeks. "We're um... practicing our speech."

I swallow heavily.

"So, you'll have to tell me stutter-free what it is that you want."

Her eyes finally glance up at my own and a shy smile plays on the corner of her lips. I try to match the look with one of my own, but I'm sure it comes off more as a grimace as her fingers continue their teasing path downward.

"I... I want your... uh... hands..." I gulp and she holds them up in front of my face, a questioning look on her features.

"Where?" she says. "Show me."

I close my eyes and breathe through my nostrils heavily before taking her hand in my own, running my thumb along it tenderly before pushing it against my chest.

"It's already been there," she whispers. "Where else?"

"Lower," I breathe out and she moves down slowly, deliberately, leaning her body in closer to mine to gain access to my exposed neck.

"Hmmm," she hums airly. "Here?" she asks, and her fingers flick open the clasp of my jeans.

"Y-y-yes," I try sounding confident, but it ends up coming out in a stuttering sigh when she releases a great deal of the pent-up pressure under my jeans. As she undoes the zipper, I can feel her fingers barely graze my sensitive flesh and I twitch involuntarily.

"Is this where you want my hands?" she questions and before I can respond, her she swipes over the bulge of my boxers, caressing me gently. The words die on my rounded lips and my chin drops further as I take in the feel of her hands gliding along the underside of me.

My eyes become lidded with the effort it takes for them to not clamp shut and my neck feels as if it's suddenly turned to jelly, dropping the support of my head until it falls back onto the pillow. I'm so fixated on the fact that Katniss Everdeen is actually _touching_ me and how it feels _so good_ that I hardly hear her when she whispers for me to lift up my hips.

"Uh, w-w-what?" I sputter out, the last thing on my clouded mind being perfect speech.

"Your hips," she repeats, pulling on the edge of my jeans. "Lift them up so I can pull your pants down."

My blood runs cold and I can feel my stomach muscles clenching as reality courses through me. _Of course_ I have to take them off completely. That kind of thing does happen in these situations...

The feeling of nervousness increases greatly as she runs her fingernails over my hip bone, waiting for me to comply to her wishes.

"Peeta?" she asks when I don't move, but only tighten the grip my hand has on her blanket below me. It's only now I realize my chest is heaving.

"We... _don't _have to," she reiterates, and I feel like the biggest idiot in the entire world. How many times am I going to make her reassure me that _it's okay_ and _we don't have to _before she finally just tells me _forget it? _

My eyes flicker down to meet hers which stare up at me widely. The way her lips turn up just slightly sends a bolt of reassurance through me and I reach to find her hand to entwine with my own.

"I want to do this with you," she explains. "But I'll want to do it with you next week. Or next month, or however long it takes."

"K-k-katniss," I try but she squeezes my hand, her other one still tracing the edge of my unclasped belt buckle.

"We're moving too fast, I get it-" she continues.

"-Katniss," I say with more conviction and her lips clamp closed as she blinks up at me.

"It's... not t-t-that," I whisper. Because although we've only been technically seeing one another for the past few weeks, I know Katniss better than I know anyone else who is a part of my life.

I know it won't matter to her, because of the type of person she is. But when I glance down at my bottom half and see only one of the pant legs filled the way it ought to be - the other hanging loosely where a thin piece of metal replaces flesh - I can't help but feel a wave of disgust wash over me.

And if _I_ feel repulsed looking at it, why the hell wouldn't she? And I would never expect her to _want_ to be all right with it. I've resigned myself to the fact that this is an inconvenient flaw. One most will not be able to look past.

She waits patiently as I still my shaking hands and sit up straighter, leaning into the wall her bed is pressed up against.

"It's... uh..." I run a hand over the back of my head. "My um... l-l-leg."

Her eyes trail over the right side of my body and I internally cringe as they land on my prosthetic.

"What about it?" she asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

"It's uh... m-m-missing-"

"Peeta," she sighs, pulling herself further up until her lips are aligned with me. I swallow a heavy pool of saliva that sits under my tongue and blink several times before looking at her. My throat feels tight and I can feel my cheeks stinging.

"I u-u-understand if-"

"Peeta," she starts again, cutting off my jumbled incoherencies. She runs her lips over mine tenderly and rubs my scalp with her fingers before allowing them to cross over to the front of me and trail over my stomach once more.

"Don't ever give me an out from you again," she whispers, an edge to her voice. "I don't say things I don't mean and I don't do things I don't want to do - you know that about me."

I'm stunned silent by her words, but am able to nod my head in understanding once.

"So don't doubt me."

"I-I-I-"

"Do you want this?" she asks again, her fingers testing their boundaries by once again dipping over the slightly pulsing part of me, and it feels too good for me not to buck forward.

"_Yes," _I groan and without permission my hand locks around her wrist, pressing her palm further against me - an action that would embarrass me greatly if I had been thinking clearly.

Katniss doesn't say another word. She takes advantage of my bucking hips by tugging down the material of my jeans until they rest around my ankles. My eyes are shut when her fingers dance around the sensitive skin that surrounds my prosthetic and I jump as an unexpected bolt of desire knots in my stomach at the touch.

_It feels good. _

She notices and bites her lip before pressing her fingers to it more firmly, massaging the area with just the right amount of pressure. I wiggle and squirm beneath her ministrations, letting out involuntary whimpers and moans until her nails trail up the inside of my thigh to rest over my burning groin once again.

She pulls the elastic of my boxers away from my body and I hiss as my hard skin slaps down onto my stomach a second later. She lets the material sit at my knees before her hand clasps around me, startlingly.

"Oh! _Ohh," _I whimper out as she begins a steady and slow _up_ and_ down_ rhythm. We're both silent, the only sounds filling the room being that of our heavy breaths as she continues her movements.

Once she finds her pattern, she squeezes with a little more pressure, her other hand dropping between my legs to cup my balls in the warmth of her palm. I feel a groan bubble up from the center of my chest, but I'm so far gone, lost in my own world, that the only sounds I register is the rapid pulsing in my ears.

It feels incredible. Katniss has taught me a lot about touch and how it can be something good, but I just never knew it could feel _this good._

_Her hands are on me, her hands are on me, _it's like a mantra in my mind that I keep repeating over and over because I really can't believe she's touching me. Her hands feel so much better than mine ever have and although I don't want it to end, when she picks up her pace and squeezes her palm around my balls tighter, a flash of white overtakes my vision and my back arches up off the bed. It's _so close._

"Kat_niss,"_ I hiss as she swirls her finger around my sensitive tip once more and instinctively my hands clamp into balls around the fabric of her shirt. Her head turns to glance at my hands and a smirk rises to her lips before she lets go of me all together. I let out an embarrassing mewl at the loss and feel myself twitching to find her hand again.

She holds a finger up, motioning to me it'll just be one second and then sits up more fully in front of me. My jaw goes slack as I watch her hands lift the bottom of her shirt up and over her head, flinging it across the room. Next her smooth fingers twist behind her to undo the clasp of her bra and she lets it fall down in between us.

"Uhhh," I breathe at the sight and I can feel the sockets of skin around my eyes stretch as they widen incredibly.

She glances down with almost a nervous blush, playing with her elegantly braided hair before her eyes meet mine again with a look of questioning acceptance. I nod my head quickly in answer and she bites the corner of her turned up lips before her hand lands on me again.

It's too much to take: the feeling of her nails gently racking up the underside of my flesh, her bare chest rising and falling in time with her movements and finally her soft tongue dancing over her bottom lip.

"K-K-Katniss!" I bellow, my hips bucking uncontrollably and my eyes screwing shut in concentration. I can feel it building up in the lower region of my stomach and suddenly my entire body feels as though it's tingling.

"I'm g-g-gonna... i-i-i-it's gonna... c-c-c-ugh!"

A feeling of euphoric bliss washes over me and my whole body shakes uncontrollably as I begin spilling over onto my stomach. My stomach muscles clench tightly and colors dance behind my tightly shut eyeballs. Katniss continues to stroke me through the orgasm until I become too sensitive to touch and then I feel her weight shift off the bed and she disappears from the room without a sound.

I blink, but before I have time to question her disappearance, she's back with a damp wash cloth. With my post-orgasm bliss withering away, embarrassment begins to settle in its place and I feel a blush creep over my skin as she begins washing residue from my skin.

"I-I'm sorry," I whisper, my voice shaky still. "I tried t-t-t-to w-w-_warn_ you-"

"Slow down," she encourages. "You don't have anything to be sorry for."

She moves back over toward the door to place the cloth in a hamper of her worn clothes and I take the opportunity to pull my boxers up and over my hips. She settles back between my legs once she returns and runs a soothing hand through my hair.

"Thank you," I find my voice to whisper in her ear, my head resting in the crook of her neck. "I... you d-d-didn't have t-t-to."

"I wanted to," she whispers back, kissing my forehead tenderly. She's still topless and the feel of her breasts pressed against my bare chest is enough for the tingling sensation to spread back to my groin.

"Hey uh... Katniss?"

"Hmm?"

I swallow a large pool of saliva thats built up in my mouth and run a hand over the back of my head nervously. I'm not sure how to go about asking her to allow me to... return the favor, so to speak, and when her eyes meet my own I'm at a complete loss for words.

I let out a foreign noise similar to a squeak and try smiling, though I'm sure it comes out as more of a grimace. My cheeks are burning on each side of my face in humiliation before I give a defeated shrug of my shoulders. Katniss takes my hand in her own though and gives it one of her familiar squeezes before turning my chin up to look into her eyes. She's smiling, and as if sensing what I'm trying to say, takes my hand in her own and drags it up along her flat belly until it rests on the swell of her breasts.

I gasp at the feel, staring down at my rigid palm for a long moment before turning back up to her. She nods her head just slightly, urging me forward before curling my fingers to mold her skin. I can feel her hard nipple against the center of my hand as I knead her experimentally.

I move to trace my thumb over the tip of her nipple, running in smooth circles before pinching it gently in between my forefinger and thumb. Katniss' back arches closer into me and her head tilts back with the small movement before she lets out a breathy moan that sends a tingling sensation straight to my groin again.

She is so beautiful, so incredibly stunning that my mouth falls open in awe and I simply stare at her. She notices my lack of movement on her sensitive skin and opens an eye to look questioningly at me.

"Are you okay?" she whispers and I nod, my throat suddenly feeling dry.

"I just... I can't believe... you... you picked..." I trail off, shaking my head as a wide grin spreads to my face. "You're g-g-gorgeous, Katniss."

The skin from her cheeks all the way down her chest turns bright pink instantly and she rolls her eyes with a slight scowl.

"You are," I say matter-of-factly before leaning in to plant a kiss on her lips, my hands busily moving over her again.

"Try this," she whispers breathily against my lips and then entwines her fingers through my hair, pushing my head down with slight force until it's inline with her chest. "Put your lips there."

My eyes widen at her request, but I don't want to come off as clumsy as I feel. Katniss had been so smooth, so fluid with her movements earlier. She seemed to know exactly what to do, exactly how to put me at ease. So instead of asking her if she's sure, or how exactly to go about it, I give her one more squeeze before lowering my lips to her nipple, taking it into my mouth.

I swipe my tongue over it, sucking on her mound gently, releasing a groan which bubbles up and out of my chest. Her skin is warm against my mouth and I can feel her pulse under my tongue. My eyes become lidded as I watch hers flutter shut, her hands tugging at the roots of my hair in what I assume to be pleasure.

They snake down my neck, her nails trailing along my back before they run down the length of my arms to grip my hands which are holding onto her hips for dear life. She takes my right hand and moves it down past her belly button to rest over her the button of her pants.

"Please," I hear her beg breathlessly. "You can, if you want, Peeta."

I break away from my ministrations and turn to look down at our entwined hands that sit between our bodies. My head rests in the valley between her breasts, both our breaths coming out in uneven pants.

"Katniss," I murmur lowly, closing my eyes. I have to warn her of the possibility of this not ending well. I can't let her have expectations I know I can't... fulfill.

"I've never done... anything... l-l-like _this_... before," I swallow deeply.

Silence follows my admission and when I finally gain the courage to meet her eyes they're wide in shock and her mouth is opened largely.

"_Really?" _she emphasizes - truly shocked - and I blush, nodding my head slowly.

"Yes-"

I'm cut off by Katniss' hysterical laughing, which only makes the embarrassment and shame swell within me further.

"Peeta, I'm _kidding," _she says and clasps her hands around each of my cheeks, shaking my head from left to right. "I know you haven't, and that's all right. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"But..."

"I've never gone further than what we've just done," she admits in a breath. "No one has ever touched me, _here,"_ to drive the point home, she makes the tips of my fingers trace between her legs. Even over the thick fabric of her jeans I can feel a distinct warmth that sticks to my fingers even after they've moved back up to the button.

"R-r-really?"

She nods, biting her lip.

"And you w-w-want... me too?"

"Nope."

I know she's kidding this time and join in with her immediate laughter with a new sense of giddiness. The laughter dies on our lips however when Katniss snakes her hand back up into my hair and urges my lips to her own. I hold the kiss, closing my eyes as they grow only centimeters away from her own and delicately undoing the button of her jeans.

Unlike me, Katniss doesn't try to stop me but immediately lifts her own hips up and shimmies out from the material. They join my own in a discarded pile on her wooden floors, and now only a thin piece of fabric separates me from her.

Katniss breaks the kiss and hooks her hands underneath the thin band, pulling them down around her knees before kicking them to the floor. Her movements suggest confidence, but she crosses her legs self-consciously and fiddles with the end of her braid, refusing to meet my eyes.

I stare at her pink-stained cheeks for a long moment before chancing a glance down, gasping as I catch sight of her for the first time. The skin surrounding her lower half is a good shade lighter than the rest of her sun-tanned body, but is still darker than my complexion on a good day. The small patch that disappears between her clamped thighs is lined with neatly trimmed hairs that I allow my fingers to brush through, eliciting a gasp from both me and her.

Instinctively, her legs part slightly, allowing my hand better access to the heated skin. A hiss escapes past my lips as I feel a slightly sticky wetness that spreads across the entire area of her.

_She's so warm. _

My fingers linger unsure of themselves in the same spot. The only knowledge I have of the female anatomy has come from mandatory health classes throughout middle and high school, and even that's just mechanical stuff.

I never had the sex talk with Dad. We just didn't have that kind of relationship. I never asked, he never offered so I never really learned. I still remember the time I woke from my first _wet dream_ and thought I was actually _dying_, that is, until I went to the library and found it was a completely normal reaction.

Rye and Bannock probably did ask Dad these things and I'm sure he told them. But to be honest, I don't think Dad ever thought he had too much to worry about in this department when it came to his youngest son.

Katniss notices my hesitation and moves her hand down to cover my own shaking one. She guides me up a couple centimeters until the tip of my finger bumps against what I assume is her clitoris. Upon contact Katniss moans slightly and begins rocking my hand back and forth over the nub.

"Keep doing that," her breath catches as she whispers, nodding her head with enthusiasm. I do as I'm told and move my forefinger up and down, pushing the small hood back slightly to gain access to the more sensitive area. Katniss' hips find a steady rhythm and rock back and forth in time with me, as her other hand tightens around the blanket below us.

I watch her expression in awe. The way the skin around her eyes wrinkle as they clamp closed, her tiny tongue licking the corner of her lips in between gasps and moans and the way her braid swings behind her head with each jerk of her neck.

She's stunning.

Her hand unlocks its grip from the blanket and moves down next to my own hand and I stare at her with confusion as she begins to rub herself in time with me. _Am I not doing it right? Should I ask her what I'm doing wrong?_

I open my mouth to ask right as her hand stops its movements and guides mine down to replace it. Wordlessly, she presses my finger against her entrance and I gasp at how extremely tight she is.

_Holy fuck!_ my mind screams over and over as I slowly begin moving in and out.

"Keep rubbing," she urges of my other hand and when I swipe across her clit again, she clamps around my finger bucking her hips erratically.

I lean in closer to take her breast into my mouth again, running the same circular pattern over her with my tongue as my hand does on her clit.

"Peeta!" she gasps. "Don't stop. _Ohhh..."_

I couldn't stop if I tried. I watch as she bites her lips and her eyes roll back behind her head in pleasure and my fingers move quicker along her soaking skin.

It's only then I realize my hips have picked up their own rhythm, gyrating me into her thigh as she grows closer and closer to the edge.

She lets out a soft mewl before her body begins shaking uncontrollably. Besides the soft breaths emitting from her nose, she's silent and after a long minute her body turns to mush below me.

I watch her quietly for a long minute, trying to get my own breathing under control before, "Did you..."

"Yes," she breathes. "I think so."

"And I..."

She lets out a giddy laugh, "Yes you did it."

It's silent for a long minute.

"..._Wow."_

Katniss laughs shoving me playfully into an upward position off the top of her. She scoots to the edge of the bed and jumps up, crossing the room, giving me a rather nice view of her butt.

"Where... are you... going?" I pout right before a gigantic yawn creeps up on me. My body is entirely relaxed and I feel as if I could fall asleep right here on Katniss' bed.

"Nowhere," she mumbles pulling on a pair of underwear. She untucks her hair from its long braid and I watch her shake her fingers through it before closing my eyes and leaning back against her pillow. I feel her move across the bed a minute later and peak a glance right as she leans over the top of me, her arms on either side of me and her hair falling down creating our own little curtain.

"I'm staying right here with you."

* * *

"Ten ninety-nine," I smile wrapping up two loaves of freshly baked bread and a dozen cookies before placing them into a travel bag.

The woman is familiar looking, but I've never learned her name. She's older, with puffy gray hair that sits close to her head and bright red lipstick. She returns the kind look before handing me two crisp ten dollar bills, her hands shaking with the effort it takes for her to reach out. I count her change out for her before walking around the cash wrap to hand her the bag.

I frown at its heavy contents and turn up to her, placing one hand on her shoulder.

"Would you... like if... I brought this to... your car?" I offer with as much enthusiasm as I can muster when constantly thinking about _not_ stuttering. Sometimes I felt stupid talking slowly with added over-pronunciation but Katniss assured me the problem would never fix itself if I wasn't consistent, and I knew there was truth to her words.

So I at least try.

"Oh that would be lovely, thank you," she says genuinely shocked that I would make such an offer. I hold the door open and allow her to slip past me.

"Just... lead the... way," I manage, traipsing slowly behind her.

At first, I was really trying to improve my speech for Katniss. I wanted her to be proud of me, wanted her to hug me and kiss me and just _smile._

But the lessons Katniss has taught me only continue to grow in numbers and in meaning, and since we first began interacting with one another, she has taught me the value of doing things for myself.

Of course I still think of how proud she might be if she had heard me speak a particularly hard sentence without stumbling, or how I can't wait to show her a new accomplishment. Those thoughts will always linger toward the back of my mind.

But in the forefront, I am finally starting to do a little something for _me._

* * *

Today is the first day in the past week that has not been spent with Katniss. After a longer shift in the bakery, I am expected to get some chores done around the house. I'm surprised Mother hasn't noticed my lack of attention to the things that I'm supposed to get done around the house. Surely if she had, I'd have heard about it by now.

I'm really behind on the laundry and it's begun to pile up uncomfortably inside the small room. I've stuck to basics; washing only things essential to the bakery and the family in day-to-day life. That way, Mother wouldn't become too overly suspicious and it'd still allow me maximum time to spend with Katniss.

But, it's getting ridiculous, and if Mother ever _did_ walk in, I would be in very big trouble.

So, I dedicate the rest of the day to getting caught up around the house. Katniss understands when I call to tell her about the dilemma. We didn't have plans for today anyway, but lately we haven't even made formal plans. Seeing one another has sort of become ingrained into our daily routine, so much so that it feels _out of place_ to go without it for an entire day.

Katniss insisted it was good though. She had her own things to do around the house and needed to spend some alone time with Prim, who apparently has been feeling rather neglected lately... which of course, makes me feel awful.

As I separate darks from lights, I try to think up ways that Katniss and I can include Prim when we hang out so she feels less left out...

However, as of late, our activities haven't exactly involved more than _two_ people. A blush creeps to my face at the thought and I let out an embarrassing snort before turning in the direction of the door to make sure no one heard.

It's completely silent, so I turn back toward the washing machine with a smile, stuffing more clothing into it before shutting it and allowing the cycle to begin.

While I wait for the load to finish, I begin folding some of the clean laundry and linens into a wide basket to bring around the house and drop off in their respective locations. The house is eerily quiet as I do so and I almost feel like whistling to rid the silence, but decide against it, just in case Mother is sleeping or something.

I definitely don't want to be responsible for waking her.

After a couple more minutes of nothingness, my ears perk up at the sound of something coming from Rye's and my bedroom just down the hall from the laundry room. I stop folding and listen to the rustling sound, trying to figure it out with knitted eyebrows.

Confused, I walk down the hallway, running a hand behind my neck before stepping through the threshold of our room. Rye is perched down beside the cardboard box my bird has taken a liking, reaching his finger inside and stroking the top of its head.

Panic sets into my system immediately, because Rye _never_ interacts with my little bird.

"What's wrong?" I demand. "Is he sick?"

Rye looks up, seeming surprised to see me and quickly retreats his hand, running it over his leg instead.

"Shut up!" he insists in a hushed tone. "Shut the door."

Blinking, I turn behind me to close our door before taking rushed steps in his direction. I kneel down on the other side of the box and look inside nervously.

And there he is. Tweeting like normal. Hopping like normal. Breathing like normal.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he snaps.

"Then why-"

"Well _someone_ has to feed the little guy while you're running around getting laid, asshole."

I roll my eyes at his over-dramatization and shake my head, reaching inside to scoop the little bird up in my palms. He stretches his feathers when I grab him and Rye lets out a soft gasp, to which I raise an eyebrow in his direction.

"Don't drop him."

"Calm... down," I snicker. "Jeez if I didn't... know better... I'd say you're... in l-l-love... with it."

"Um, am not," he protests.

"I think you are," I nod, passing the bird into his already cupped hands. "Feeding him-"

"-He was _starving!"_

"_Holding_ him..."

"He was squawking really fucking loudly," he tries with less effort, raising the bird closer to his face and letting a gentle smile sink in before turning to me with a scowl. "It was being obnoxious and I didn't want to get busted because it couldn't shut up."

"All right," I smile and let the matter go, although I know for a fact my little bird never _squawks. _At the most, it's just beginning to tweet and even that is hardly audible. But, Rye seems embarrassed from the attachment he's grown to our littlest roommate and the last thing I need is for him to get upset and do something stupid over it.

He seems to accept my answer and runs his palm over the bird's back gently before placing it back inside its box.

"How, um, long do you think you'll keep it for?" He asks a moment after we've both grown silent, staring at the small creature.

"I'm not... sure," I murmur back. I hadn't exactly thought about it, but I suppose I should. I can't keep the bird forever, nor had I planned on it. Not only can I not keep it hidden underneath my bed for the rest of forever, but his natural habitat isn't meant to be inside a box.

Still, the thought of releasing my tiny friend and probably never seeing him again afterward causes an uncomfortable ball to knot in the center of my chest. I swallow heavily, scratching my head before turning to Rye while clearing my throat.

"Until he's... better," I finally respond, not entirely sure if I'm reassuring him or myself, but the answer does the trick and I smirk as I see him release a small exhale of relief.

"What?" he bites back when he notices my intent look. "He's grown on me that's all."

I smile at my brother before pushing the box back underneath my bed before Mother walks in to find it.

"I... know," I reassure him. "Me too."

* * *

When I wake the following morning, there's an unexpected rush in the bakery and Rye asks me to stay and help out for a couple of hours. Although I was anxious to see Katniss, with a swarm of people in the shop, Dad would be disappointed and Mother would be disgusted with me if I ran off. Plus, I'd feel bad leaving Rye.

So, instead of rushing away for the entire day like I had planned, I stay to help out in the bakery until almost one in the afternoon when the odd rush has subsided and it's only Rye and I left inside.

"Well, _go," _he had urged when I stared at him anxiously, shifting from left to right and eyeing the door periodically.

"_Thank you!"_

Katniss was waiting for me when I arrived and had the door open before I even had the chance to knock. She smiles up at me, pushing a stray lock of hair out from her face and biting her lip nervously, casting me a timid wave.

I wave back in the same manner and she grins up at me widely.

"Oh um, come in!" she urges, her tone flustered and I follow her into the house further. It's quiet inside and I kick off my shoes, looking around, confused.

"What are you looking for?" Katniss asks a moment later.

"Not a...'what,'" I shake my head. "A... who. Where's Prim?"

"Friend's house," Katniss smirks and I'm sure the tomato color her cheeks sport is an exact replica of my own. I follow her up the creaky steps and down the hall and through her bedroom door - which she closes behind her.

"I missed you," she admits almost immediately and I nearly do a double-take in her direction.

"You... I uh... I missed you too," I swallow with a giddy grin. My eyes trail her form as she saunters over to her bed, patting the spot beside her for me to join. Without hesitation, my feet are moving forward until I'm lowering myself down onto her bed and adjusting my body position comfortably.

"Did you... have a.. uh... good day... with your... sister?" I try to question, but Katniss's lips seem to find my jaw at the exact same time, trailing gentle (and distracting) kisses behind my earlobe all the way to my chin.

"I don't want to talk about my sister right now," she says with a small chuckle. "Is that okay?"

"Uh huh," I sigh and the last thing I see before my eyes close on their own accord is the wicked smirk planted on her lips before they connect with my own. Her hand snakes around my chest to rest on the other side of my waist, gripping it tightly and turning to press her front against my own.

My hand lands on the back of her neck, guiding her lips impossibly closer to my own. I moan as her tongue swivels and swirls around inside my mouth and knot my fingers through her hair. The transitions between our kisses have become increasingly smoother with our added practice and we seem to glide in unison, no longer awkwardly bumping noses with one another or clicking teeth like two inexperienced and separate individuals. Our connected bodies move in time with one another and it's a feeling that is otherwise indescribable. Something I've never felt before in my life and hope to never feel again with anyone other than Katniss.

In the heat of our kisses, we hardly register the sound of the downstairs door squeaking open and only stop the intensity of our kiss as it slams shut. In an instant, Katniss pulls away from me; her lips still swollen and parted as she breathes erratically, trying to decipher the foreign noise.

Through the thin flooring, I can clearly make out the sound of cabinets closing and tap water running. Footsteps trail along the ground below us and a moment later an unfamiliar woman's voice calls up.

"Katniss?"

If she was confused before, I'm not sure how to describe her expression now. The color that had formerly been in her cheeks drain and her eyes grow wide - a mixture of confusion and annoyance brewing inside her wild orbs before she practically topples off the bed.

She swings open her door and disappears a moment later down the hallway.

"Mom?" her tone is almost venomous as she calls down the steps and a second later her mother responds, explaining she's home early because of a shift mishap at work and has to go back in later tonight. Katniss doesn't respond but reappears through the threshold of her room, preparing to re-shut the door. Her lips are pulled downward into a frown and her eyes could burn a hole through the spot she stares at on the wall.

"Your... mom is... home?" I question and she nods tersely almost immediately.

I only vaguely know what Mrs. Everdeen looks like. Living in the same town your entire life, you're bound to be able to at least recognize one another, but I don't think we've ever actually spoken. If we have, the conversation couldn't have been all that important, seeing as I have no memory of it whatsoever.

I'm confused about Katniss' reaction to her mother's arrival, though. I knew - based on small bits and pieces of conversations here and there - that Katniss does not have the best relationship with her mother, but the pure hate that fills her clenching jaw and the way her mood has changed completely in a matter of seconds suggests there is more to the story than she lets on.

"We should... uh... go say hello," I suggest nervously, and with good reason because as soon as the idea leaves my mouth her head snaps up in my direction, her eyes boring into my own. "I've never uh m-m-met your... mother, before," I conclude and her eyes soften slightly before the scowl returns.

"You aren't missing out on anything," she insists and my frown deepens. She notices my expression and lets out a heavy breath, pulling her door open before leading the way through it.

"Lets make this quick."

It _is_ quick. Katniss runs down the stairs, seemingly forgetting about my prosthetic, and casts me an apologetic look as she waits at the bottom for me. She takes my own hand in her own, giving it her signature squeeze before bringing it to her lips to kiss.

"It's okay," I mouth to her with a wink and she gives me her best fake smile before nodding her head up and down once.

She leads me down the small hallway that lets out by the main door and turns to the left into the kitchen where her mom stands, placing a pot of water on top of the stove.

She turns at the sound of our footsteps and immediately her eyes land on me. Prim is the spitting image of her mother. They both have the same golden shade of natural curls and the same piercing shade of blue to their eyes. Mrs. Everdeen's lips lift up into a soft smile and it's easy to see Prim has inherited that from her mother as well.

Katniss might appear adopted at first glance if you stuck her between her mother and Prim. But, Katniss keeps a picture of Mr. Everdeen and herself from when she was much younger - about nine or ten maybe? She's sitting on his lap and in that one frame, it is easy to see that Katniss is the spitting image of her _father._

Mrs. Everdeen's eyes search between mine and her daughter's before finally she clears her throat, "Katniss? Care to introduce me to your friend?"

Her voice is much softer than what I, for some reason, imagine it to be and after the words tumble from her mouth she eyes me, bringing the same small smile to her lips once more.

"Mom, this is Peeta," Katniss speaks, her voice monotone. She doesn't offer forth any more information and Mrs. Everdeen doesn't ask for it. She simply extends her hand out in my direction and blinks twice before I grab hold of it.

Her fingers are cold.

"It's nice to meet you Peeta..." her sentence trails off in a way that has me thinking she expects me to finish it.

"Oh uh... M-M-Mellark, ma'am."

She nods, satisfied with the answer and dumps a rice mix into the pot on the stove.

"Katniss, how come you've never mentioned Peeta before?" she asks, genuinely curious. I chance a glance in Katniss's direction from the corner of my eye and note the way her clenched jaw moves from left to right as she undoubtedly grits her teeth.

Everyone is silent for an uncomfortable moment before Mrs. Everdeen clears her throat, obviously sensing her daughter has chosen not to answer her.

"Well, you're always welcome, Peeta," she concludes, looking over her shoulder to smile at me. I return it and hear Katniss scoff quietly to my side. My eyebrows furrow at her, silently wondering _what? _but she refuses to meet my gaze.

"Feel free to make yourself right at home."

"Should be easy," Katniss finally speaks. Her voice is low, but that's what makes it all the more dangerous. "Seeing as he's here more often than you are."

Mrs. Everdeen doesn't turn back toward us, but I watch her hand cease its stirring motion over the pot.

"She wonders why she's never met you," Katniss cackles sarcastically. "How many times have you been over here this summer, Peeta, huh?"

It's obvious she wants an answer, but I'm not sure how to respond so I stare at her, mouth wide open until she turns in the direction of the back of her mother's head.

"Too many to count. But I bet I could count how many nights you've been home," she breathes.

"...Katniss," her mother begins but Katniss is already pulling me back down the hall and in the direction of the stares. I follow - partly because her hand holds a vice grip around my wrist - but also because judging by her uncharacteristic outburst and the way she seems to be hyperventilating she's breathing so hard, I don't think she's in the right condition to be alone.

She doesn't exactly slam the door behind us, but she shuts it _very_ tightly and then begins pacing. I watch her stalk from one corner of the room to another, pulling at the roots of her hair and _growling_ underneath her breath.

"Katniss?" I try and it stops her in her tracks, but the look she casts me suddenly has me recoiling back into her bed further. Her expression softens and she comes to sit down beside me.

"I'm sorry," she says quietly, her voice still biting.

"She... your mother... she seems... I-I-I don't know... nice?" I wince once the words have left my mouth and Katniss stares at me agape before shaking her head slowly from left to right. Her shoulders slump and she leans her elbows on top of her legs, cradling her head in her palms.

"She's fake," she grumbles with a shrug.

I'm quiet for a long moment before clearing my throat and shrugging alongside her.

"But... is that necessarily... _bad?"_ I mumble. At least Katniss's mother is kind. She's quiet and timid and of course absent, but when she's here, she's not yelling or screaming or fighting - she's just _here._

Which is more than I can say for my own mother.

"Bad?" Katniss scoffs. "What, you think it's good?"

"I..."

"-You think that's _all right?" _she spits. "Oh sure, it's grand! Let's play make-believe, let everyone around town think we're just an all-American _do good _family. Daddy died and Mommy took right over! She's a saint, isn't she? Raising two girls after her husband's death? Well fuck that!"

"Katniss," I urge, my voice trembling. I know she's not really yelling _at me_ but the tone in her voice and the level in which it carries is enough to cause anxiety to course through me. Without warning she flings herself into my arms, digging her head into my chest and squeezing the material of my shirt in her hands.

I'm momentarily stunned but recover quickly, moving to wrap my own hands around her, rubbing small circles on her back.

"It's o-o-okay," I whisper in what I hope is a reassuring manner.

"You don't get it," she whispers back, shaking her head and I grow stiff in her arms, unable to respond. Of course I don't get it, how could I possibly? Katniss's mother and my own are polar opposites... both less than ideal in their own way, but most definitely not on the same scale.

So Katniss's mother plays pretend. So what? Is it the worst thing in the world for your mother to act overly sweet in front of company? Maybe lead them on a bit? No, and I can't tell Katniss any different.

I know Mrs. Everdeen is absent in her life. Like Katniss said, I've been here plenty of times before and never once has my trip included Mrs. Everdeen.

But just a few weeks ago, Katniss witnessed my mother in action. She _knows_ how she is and there's just no way to compare the two.

Katniss notices my silence and grows stiff beside me as well before lifting her head to face me with wide eyes and red cheeks. It's as if she's read my internal thoughts directly.

"Peeta, I'm sorry," she breathes. "I didn't mean to... I sounded like an idiot."

"You n-n-never sound... like an... idiot," I assure her, pushing back a stray hair from her eyes.

She rolls her eyes at the comment and lets out a large breath.

"My mom, she's just... a really sore subject for me. After my dad died, Prim and I really needed a mother, you know? We needed someone to tell us it was going to be all right, to provide for us - emotionally and physically. And my mom... she didn't _do_ those things."

I listen to her silently, swallowing heavily with her admission. She toys with the blanket below us, running her pointer finger in circles through its material before shrugging her shoulders in a defeated manner.

"When I needed her most, she abandoned me," she concludes, her voice breaking in a painful way I've never seen her project before.

I'm not sure what to say, so instead of talking I simply press a kiss to her forehead before leaning my cheek into it.

"This probably sounds so stupid to you," she admits after a minute, her voice quivers as if she were on the edge of tears. I pull her in tighter to my body, shaking my head 'no' in an instant.

"It's not s-s-stupid... at all..." I mumble into her skin. "You lost... a past... with your... mother."

She nods shortly.

"But maybe..." I begin, biting my lip.

"Maybe?" she echoes and I breathe deeply before finishing.

"Maybe you... could... work on your... future."

* * *

Hey all! Thank you so much for reading and holy cow, Eggshells reached over 1,000 reviews! That's amazing, thank you so much. Sorry for the long delay in updates. This chapter was a little harder for me to write, but I hope it was worth the wait.

I changed my tumblr URL so if you're interested, come find me under the username: finnickshardtrident now!


	16. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins. **

A big thank you to my beta: fnur for all her help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

"Clams cleverly cook the carrots."

"Clams... cleverly cook the... carrots," I repeat, running my fingers through the soft grass underneath me.

"Pretty people like picking posies," I hear Katniss giggle from her spot next to me.

The side of her head is pressed up against mine, with our legs shooting out in opposite directions. The shady trees from our hideaway in her father's meadow helps keep the blinding sun from our eyes.

"Pretty people like... picking posies," I repeat with only a slight hesitation. The sound of Katniss clapping rings out in the otherwise silent meadow and she moves to push herself up into a sitting position. I do the same, turning my hips so that I'm facing her and offer her my best grin which she matches with ease.

"You sound incredible," she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief. "I mean, look at how far you've come, just since the beginning of summer!"

"I know," I say, exhaling deeply. "It's... unbelievable."

There's only three days left until summer vacation is officially over, and with each passing day I find myself growing more and more anxious to be back in the halls I'd grown to dread. Tormenting thoughts of Cato and his buddies and homework and being called on and expected to participate swirl around in my mind in an near dizzying fashion until I have to command myself to stop thinking about it before I actually throw up.

All summer long I've fought off the panic attacks that accompany thoughts of school. I keep telling myself not to worry about it, that it's long in the future and it's best to take one day at a time. But now, it's so close to being here that I'm not sure I can take it "one day at a time" anymore.

The few times Katniss has noticed my blank stare off into space or the way my breath would pick up for no reason in particular, she'd be quick to soothe any worrisome thoughts I had, assuring me all would be all right and we even had some classes together.

Our schedules came in the mail a couple weeks ago, and that's when Katniss and I figured out we shared three of the same classes with each other. Katniss had seemed elated, but it only caused the sinking in my stomach to drop impossibly further making my blood feel cold and hands shake.

I still haven't talked with Katniss about what'll happen when school resumes this upcoming week. She's made no mention of feeling embarrassed or trying to backtrack away from me, but part of me feels as though this is only because she doesn't _understand_ what it means exactly to be associated with me.

It was one thing for people to see us in the library with one another, when it was obvious she was teaching me something... but now, hand in hand? Kissing? It's an entirely new ballpark and I would hate to see Katniss become dragged down while trying desperately to keep me afloat.

"You okay, Peeta?" Katniss asks a minute later, her head tilted to the side to meet my eyes which are cast downward.

My head snaps up and I blink a couple of times before nodding my head rapidly - a not-so-subtle admission to _not _being okay. My weird attitude doesn't slip past her and her eyebrows furrow together in confusion before she purses her lips.

"What are you thinking about?"

I've tried breaching this subject with Katniss before on a couple different occasions, each time was met with little to no success. I start to say her name and then she's looking at me with wide eyes waiting for me to continue and my tongue swells inside my mouth and my throat feels like sandpaper and I don't even have enough saliva left to swallow.

Katniss told me to never again give her an _out_ so I don't want to upset her. But, on the other hand, I feel like I owe it to her to at least warn her of what's to come. Katniss hardly knew me before last year, she can't possibly understand _everything. _

I can't be what causes her to be upset. I just can't.

But as I meet her eyes once again, I also can't find it in me to give her the opt out either.

"I have to eat dinner... home tonight," I tell her lamely and her confused expression deepens. "Bannock and Clarissa are coming over."

"Oh," she says with understanding. "Not a problem, we should probably start heading back now anyways."

"Yeah..." I finish with a low sigh.

I pick myself up off the ground and then hold my arms out to help Katniss before we both dust any residue dirt off the back of our pants. We walk down the long path silently - the only sounds being made by my booming steps until the voice of a song bird stops me in my tracks. I tug on Katniss's arm gently to get her to stop as well.

She stares at me - mouth half open as if she's about to speak - before my pointer finger lands over my lips then points upward to the branch which holds not one but a family of song birds. Katniss's smile is beaming as we both turn up to watch their delicate and plump bodies hop from place to place.

"Watch this," Katniss mouths before whistling a four note melody. The birds catch on almost immediately and a moment later it's bouncing around the woods from tree to tree. I copy the whistle in time with her and she bites her lip as more birds join in.

"It's beautiful," I say to no one in particular, watching as a small flock darts further up into the sky.

"You like birds, don't you?" Katniss asks and it's only then I realize she's been watching me watching the birds.

I nod my head sheepishly before shrugging my shoulders. "I'm not sure why. Always just... have."

"They're inspiring," she chimes and I nod my head in agreement.

"They're free."

* * *

When I get home, I'm not surprised at all to see that Bannock and Clarissa have already arrived. I can hear their laughter coming through the open window as I make my way up the porch and offer one last wave to Katniss who is already backing out of the driveway.

Clarissa notices my arrival almost instantly and comes to greet me as I slip my shoes from off my feet. The fresh air circulating around the room does well to waft the smell of food from the kitchen to the main area where I stand, and my stomach gives a hungry growl.

"I was wondering when you'd arrive," Clarissa teases, patting my shoulder gently.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I'm quick to apologize, a blush rising to my cheeks. "I hadn't planned on being late, but it took longer too-"

Clarissa cuts me off when her hand flies up in between us in the universal 'stop' sign and she stares at me with an expression of awe.

"...What?" I finally ask when she makes no move to speak.

"Peeta," she begins, biting her lip to keep from laughing it appears, and suddenly I grow self-conscious.

"What?" I try again, a little more clearly.

"Forgive me for bringing it up, but, your stutter... it's _gone," _she beams, her hands landing on either of my shoulders, giving them a forceful shake. I feel the goofy smile spread along my face, because Clarissa is the first person to comment (or notice) the fact that I hardly ever stumble over my words anymore.

Well, besides Katniss.

"Oh yeah," I say, running a hand along the back of my neck. "I've been... working on it. It's not one hundred... percent yet, but-"

"But you have made amazing progress," she finishes, crossing her arms over one another. "You're really growing up," she continues. "Growing into your own. I'm proud of you, you deserve this."

I swallow the thickness that rises in my throat with Clarissa's words and fall into her embrace when she opens up her arms. She pats my back lovingly and gives my cheek a quick kiss.

"Thank you," I say right before Bannock calls us over for dinner.

"Oh good," Clarissa chuckles. "I'm _starving."_

Bannock holds a hot dish in his hands and leans over the table to place it in the center before pulling the lid free and revealing a large and seasoned chicken. Every inch of the table is covered with different foods; corn, potatoes, greens, rolls...

It's not often we have huge or lavish dinners. Mother typically doesn't like to entertain guests (including her own son) because she's not very good at putting on a front or playing the "kind hostess."

But she has Clarissa tricked enough that she doesn't appear to be skeptical around Mother. In fact, as we make our way to our respective seats, Clarissa even pulls Mother in for a hug, thanking her for the food and the invitation.

"Oh," Mother laughs lightly, pulling out her chair before falling down into it with a heavy huff. "I hardly did anything, the boys have been doing the cooking... well, most of the boys," Mother casts me a sideways glance, her lips puckering and eyes narrowing just slightly before I turn away to study my napkin.

"Where were you today anyway, Peeta?" Bannock questions politely, simply trying to strike up conversation with his youngest, awkward brother.

My mouth feels dry as it hangs open with his question. I hadn't necessarily been lying to Mother about where I disappear off to each day, she knows I'm hanging around with Katniss and politely informs me that it must all be an elaborate prank. But, I try to bring up Katniss as seldom as possible, because I don't want Mother asking _questions_ or making _comments _or really having any thoughts to do with Katniss at all.

Because I remember with clarity earlier in the year when Mother forbid me to see Katniss anymore. And if she did it once, I certainly don't put it past her to do it again.

"Peeta's taken a liking to hiking, haven't you?" Rye spews out quickly, adverting the attention to himself and off of me. While everyone looks him over bewilderedly, he shoots me a quick wink.

"I didn't know you were into hiking," Bannock says, blinking and I nod fervently, shoving the glass of water before me past my lips and taking a deep chug. Mother glares at me disapprovingly.

"Um... yeah it's not... so bad," I shrug nonchalantly and Rye nods his head in agreement, before adding: "A couple of his friends are into it."

"I think that's awesome, Peeta," Bannock comments, and Clarissa nods her head in agreement. I offer them a quiet thank you in return, my fork clanking against my plate after I press a bite of potatoes past my lips.

Mother diverts the conversation away from me and my friends and my new found "hobby" and begins talking about business in the bakery, and how lately sales have been higher than normal. Rye, Father and Bannock all jump into the conversation immediately, and Clarissa offers a polite nod or "hmm" in agreement when necessary.

I stay quiet; silently picking at the small portions of food on my plate, not bothering to jump into the conversation where too many voices already overlap one another. It'd be nice to get through the evening free of drama, and the easiest way to keep from upsetting Mother is by saying nothing at all.

Bannock asks if Rye plans on working in the bakery full-time now that he's finished with school and with an unsure shrug he nods his head 'yes.' I know Rye had hopes of getting out of town soon after he graduated. He wanted to go away to school, get as far away from home as possible.

He's been saving his money for years now.

But Mother, of course, guilted him into staying and helping out Father with the bakery. I heard them arguing from upstairs in my bedroom a little over a month ago.

"_You can't leave your father alone! Family first, Rye, have I taught you _nothing?!"

"_Father is not alone! He has Peeta!"_

"_Peeta?" _Mother scoffed and the burst into a round of hysterics - the kind that made my heart sink all the way to the bottom of my stomach. _"Peeta! Really? You think there's a chance in hell I'd leave _him_ in charge? We'd be out of customers in a week!"_

Rye is silent for a long time, and I can't tell if he's lowered his voice or simply has no response, then finally, dejectedly, he grumbled: _"He has Bannock."_

I clenched the sheets harder in my balled up fists.

"_Bannock is a part-time employee-"_

I stopped listening after that, because there was nothing else to hear. They fought for a good long time before Rye came charging up the stairs and flying into our bedroom. I pretended to be asleep as he crashed and threw things around before falling into bed with a huff.

"_You awake?!" _he hissed in the direction of my bed, and my body stilled. I bit my lip to keep from calling back out to him and turned my head further into the pillow.

"_Look, I know you are so... just... don't listen to that shit she says, okay? It's not true, if anyone deserves that bakery it's you, Peeta."_

"_That's n-n-not... true," _I whispered, nearly inaudible. _"You just w-w-w-want to go a-a-away."_

"_You're right, I do," _he half chuckles into the dark air. _"But it doesn't make my words less true. I'm not... a fucking _baker. _But, you love it."_

"_I do."_

"_I know," _I hear the smile in his voice before he turns over with a loud huff, adjusting underneath his covers. _"Don't worry about it, man. I'll figure it out in the morning."_

Obviously, he hadn't. Or maybe he had, just not the way he had initially hoped.

"Peeta?"

I glance up lazily from where my eyes had been fixated on my empty plate. I blinked a few times before meeting Father's gaze and he offers me a small smirk.

"Hungry for more?"

"Oh...," it dawns on me he assumed I was indicating I wanted more food. I shake my head furiously from left to right. "No, I'm all right. Thank... you."

"So, Peeta, are you excited for school to begin?" Clarissa asks, jabbing her fork into several pieces of lettuce before holding them up to her mouth. "It's starting any day now, right?"

"Who is _ever_ excited about school?" Rye responds before I have the chance, sending the table into musical laughter. I laugh along too, because he has a point. What makes it even more nerve-wrecking is that I won't even have him for the little support he offered... at least he was someone to walk to school with.

But of course I'm not going to dive into all these issues in front of everyone, especially because people only ask to be polite, so in return they want the polite answer - not a long, complaining, rant.

So when she turns her attention back to me for my answer, I nod my head twice with what I hope is an "enthusiastic" smile.

"Senior year is always fun," she continues, matching the movement of my head. "We had fun, didn't we Bannock?"

Bannock smirks at his wife while cutting up some of his meat. "That's right. Who knows, maybe you'll even find a special lady this year."

My cheeks sting and I turn down to hide the darkened shade I know they're turning. Bannock laughs and a moment later, I see Rye nudge him before saying: "Oh you don't have to worry about that. Peeta's already got a special friend."

"Oh _really?" _Bannock raises an eyebrow and I shoot a menacing glare Rye's way, which has _him_ raising his eyebrows, though not suggestively like Bannock, just confused and then a moment later a look of remorse crosses his face.

He probably just assumed Mother _knew. _And she probably did, but damnit I definitely hadn't planned on going _here. _Not at dinner. Not in front of everyone.

"We're just... friends," I mumble.

"What's her name?"

"Bannock stop it, you're embarrassing him," Clarissa chides. "It's all right Peeta, we don't have to talk about it."

"Thanks."

"Though I feel inclined to say any young lady would be lucky to end up with you."

Mother lets out a quick snort which she quickly disguises for a cough when Clarissa looks to her confused and Dad seamlessly changes the topic once more.

Having Bannock and Clarissa over for dinner is stressful for everyone. When they're not around, we don't carry on too much conversation during dinner time, and actually these past couple of weeks Mother has taken a liking to eating her food upstairs in her bedroom.

But when "company" comes over, she feels pressured to play the perfect hostess, and the rest of us are forced into playing along beside her. I can see the bags of stress under Dad's eyes as he forces a topic from his lips, the anguish behind Rye when he puts his foot in his mouth and the anger in Mother's anytime I say _anything _even when a question has been directed my way.

It's as if she's saying: _One little fuck up and you are done._

_I know, _my eyes always plead back. Because, believe me.

I _know._

* * *

It's after eight-thirty when Bannock and Clarissa are finally making their way toward the door. Father and Rye and even Mother start to follow after them, making light small talk for the last few minutes of their visit.

"Clean these dishes up," Mother mumbles to me before I have the chance to say goodbye. She points to the table in disgust and raises an eyebrow at me when my feet don't immediately move.

"Now."

Her tone is even and quiet, which is almost more menacing than when she's screaming at the top of her lungs, and I don't make her repeat herself before I'm huddled over the table, cramming as many dishes into my arms as possible to carry over to the sink.

Once I dump them inside, I pour some soap over the top of them and turn the water on, allowing them to soak as I finish clearing the rest of the table. I hear laughter carrying on from just the next room over and sneak a glance at everyone hugging and thanking one another for the evening.

I let out a small sigh of relief, followed closely by a smile. _I made it. _The night hadn't been so horrible, with only a couple hiccups Mother would most likely brush off for the evening. She seemed tired anyway.

I stack more dishes into my arms, but turn too sharply back in the direction of the kitchen, causing my false leg to give out completely. Without warning, I fall face-first to the wood floor, and with me go the dishes. They smash against the ground half a second before my body does and shards of porcelain scatter everywhere.

The house is silent around me and my heart can be heard pounding in my ear drums. I look around frantically, trying to collect the pieces while my breathing comes out in quick and heavy pants.

"No, shit, no," I speak quietly to myself in panic right before her voice causes me to wince in expectant pain.

"You _idiot," _she seethes and I turn around to face her bright-red expression just as she grabs a shard of the china in her palms.

"You incompetent _fool!" _she yells out, throwing the piece in her hand in my direction. I block my face with my arm and feel a sharp sting where the object lands and bounces off.

"Why is it that you can't do a _single thing _without messing up?"

"He didn't mean to!" Clarissa's voice sounds over Mother's as she comes stomping into the room, her eyebrows knit together and lips pursed. "It was obviously an accident."

Mother's lips press into a hard line and Bannock pulls on his wife's arm.

"Clarissa... go on outside, I'll be right there."

She opens her mouth to object, but Bannock only points with more force, his eyes pleading with her. Reluctantly, she turns to me with sorrow-filled eyes before retreating back toward and out of the door.

Bannock's head is turned in her direction until the door slams tightly behind her, then refocuses his gaze to land on Mother, who stubbornly crosses her arm like a child being scolded.

"You don't understand," she begins before he can even talk. "Things have changed since you've left."

"The yelling is completely unnecessary," he speaks, his tone authoritative. "We didn't come over here for the night to end like this."

"I'm sorry," she sniffs and Bannock points in my direction.

"Apologize to him, not me."

He turns toward the front of the house, following after his wife and leaving the rest of us in awkward silence. Mother's gaze rests on the door for a long time before she finally snaps it back toward me - her eyes icily black.

"Clean. This. Up."

I can see the flush of anger and embarrassment lace her cheeks before she turns away so sharply, her long tied-back hair whips around and nearly hits her in the face.

My tense body remains completely still until Mother pushes her way into the bakery - claiming to need some fresh air. Her voice trails off in the distance followed by the heavy slam of a door.

Rye is by my side in an instant, helping my shaky hands to collect the broken pieces of the china.

"Those dishes were ugly anyway," he shrugs, tossing shards into his up-tucked shirt and I almost smile but my spasming muscles keep it from growing past a grimace.

Dad steps into the room with a broom moments after Rye and I have finished picking up the majority of the pieces and begins sweeping under and around the table.

"I can finish," I mumble, reaching an arm out to take it from him, but he only shakes his head in response, gripping onto the broom tighter.

"I've got it," he assures me. "Why don't you just head on up to your room now?"

I'm weary, but when he nods his head in encouragement, motioning with his hands for me to go on up I turn on my heels with a quiet 'thank you' and head up to my bedroom just as I see Rye slip out the door opposite the one Mother had. I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't see him for the next several hours.

The hallway leading to the room is pitch black and I have to stumble around in the darkness for a minute to find the switch. With the sudden change in lighting, my tiny bird lets out a faint coo from his place underneath my bed.

I let out an sympathetic sigh for the small creature, having been locked up all day, and slide the box out from under my bed frame.

"Hey buddy," I greet gently, scooping him up into my arms and holding him close to my chest. I feel his heart beating quickly against my fingertips, similar in time to my own, and stroke his short feathers tenderly, as if to soothe him... or me... I'm not quite sure yet.

I glance down at his "cage" and am pleasantly surprised to find that Rye actually listened to me and gave the bird some fresh water and food.

I'm going to have to figure out a time to clean out his little living space... it's hard with Mother constantly around now. She's been feeling a little better these days and as a result has spent less time locked away in her bedroom and more time down in the bakery... driving _all_ of us insane.

I exhale deeply, leaning back against the frame of my bed and resting my head against the wall. I've known for a while now that my bird cannot stay here forever, but I've grown so used to his company that the thought of saying goodbye causes a lump to form in my throat. I'm surprised I've managed to keep it here undetected for so long, but with the little thing starting to feel better (spreading his wings more often, soft chirps and coos...) it's getting increasingly harder to keep him from floating above radar.

I mold the comforter I sit on top of to form a small nest-like shape and place my little bird inside of it, smiling to myself as he twists around himself before settling comfortably in the middle. He cranes his neck, looking in all sorts of different directions before pecking underneath his wing.

Although the altercation with Mother happened nearly a half hour ago, my hands still shake steadily, even when I grip my thighs tightly in an effort to stop them. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I glance around the silent room for something to distract myself from the embarrassing dinner earlier, but come up empty handed. Typically, after a bad night, I would draw or paint, but after what happened last time, I haven't had the courage to try again.

_Which is dumb, _one part of my brain argues. _It's something I enjoy. _Whether she thinks it's stupid or not shouldn't influence me this much.

_But, it's not just her, _the other part interjects. _It's everyone._

I think back to school, when Cato had caught me drawing and snatched the piece of paper from my hands and crumbled it to the floor. It was the first picture I had tried drawing of my bird - back when it had a nest - and it had ripped down the middle because of him.

The thought causes an odd warmness to spread through me, but not like the kind Katniss causes when she compliments me on my speech or tells me she likes the way my shirt makes my arms look... no, this heat is intense in a different way... in a way that causes me to clench my fists and grit my teeth. Anger? Maybe.

I don't like it, so I divert my attention to the book bag on the other side of the room. I teeter over and pull free one of my notebooks, bringing it back to my spot on the bed. I flip it open to a blank page and run my hand over the paper for a long moment, as if re-familiarizing myself with it.

I pick up my pencil, tracing feather-light touches against the paper and automatically my mind remembers. I'm drawing shapes and textures before I fully realize it. I split my concentration between my sleeping bird and the paper, making sure that I've gotten every line right, every curve perfectly. I want this to be perfect. I need it to be. I can do this.

After I've developed the basic body outline, I begin shading and I can feel my eyebrows knitting together as my tongue darts out past my lips with the effort. I can't remember if I was able to sneak an art class into my schedule for this upcoming semester, but I really do hope so. I don't like that I'd forgotten so easily how big a part drawing has played in my life. It's been my outlet, my way of expression, my escape.

I missed it so much.

I'm working on the shaping of my bird's exposed wing when the door flies open suddenly, and Mother is standing there. I hadn't even heard her come up the stairs or down the hall like I normally do, due to our creaking floors. There is no time to hide what I am doing. Mother's eyes flit from my bird to my drawing and finally land on my face, and her eyes are filled with so much fury, I feel myself melting under her stare.

"Moth-"

"What the _fuck_ is going on?" she asks, her tone calm and measured... which makes it even worse. Her right eyebrow is raised and twitches slightly in the silence and behind her clenched jaw I can see her teeth gritting.

I don't dare move... I couldn't if I wanted to. I'm stunned still, knowing any sudden movement will trigger her into action.

But I'd be an idiot to think sitting like a deer caught in headlights would stop her.

"I asked you a question," she sniffs, tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth. She paces back and forth along the width of the room, arms crossed, head shaking slowly from left to right.

"I..." I swallow heavily. My tongue feels like sandpaper. There is nothing to say.

"You know, I came up here to talk calmly with you," she lets out a short chuckle. "But you can't ever speak calmly with an _idiot. _It's impossible. And then you wonder why I _scream."_

There's a tense moment where she stops pacing. Where her feet stop hitting the same squeaky floorboard and the house is eerily silent. She stares venomously and then, so quickly it's happened before I realize, she slaps me hard across the face. It stings upon impact and again, just as quickly as the first time, her hand swipes my swollen cheek again.

"You _do this to yourself!" _she continues furiously, her fists coming into contact with my head every couple of seconds. Instinctively, I curl my arms around as much of my face and head that I can cover, leaving the rest of my body vulnerable to attack.

I grunt deeply, curling into an uncomfortable ball as her knee connects with my stomach roughly, knocking the air out of my lungs and leaving me gasping and wheezing on top of my bed.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demands, pulling me by the roots of my hair roughly and jerking me off of the bed. Her painful blow leaves me doubled over and I fall to the ground helplessly as she takes another kick to my back.

I close my eyes and focus on breathing as her words float through the air and her leg continues to draw back then connect with my body, draw back and then connect. I bite my lip to keep from screaming out - that only makes it worse - and try focusing on _anything_ that isn't this moment.

It's hard. Adrenaline is beginning to kick in and everything behind my eyelids turns different shaded colors, making it hard to focus on anything else.

"I'll fucking kill you," she seethes. "You are a fuck-up Peeta! A mistake! And all you do is prove it daily. You're a mistake!"

She continues to yell things I block out as she crosses back to my bed, eyes focused on the bird that scuttles across my bed cluelessly, chirping at nothing in a worrisome fashion. My heart drops at her slow and steady movements... she knows better than to lunge, because she wants to catch the bird... and do only god knows what to it.

"So, this is what you like to do with your spare time, Peeta?" she asks, panting from exertion but keeping her tone even. "Paint pictures of pretty little birdies? I've warned you once about this stupid hobby, but apparently you need a refresher."

I'm on my feet as quickly as possible, wobbling back and forth on my unsteady bad leg.

For the next several moments, I kind of black in and out of reality. I don't remember _how,_ but when the darkness fades, Mother is on the ground, her fingernails digging into the wooden floors menacingly. Her lips are drawn back into a snarl and her face is extremely red.

My chest is heaving, and pressed safely in my shirt is my squirming bird.

I run, because in the two seconds that I have to make a decision, I can't think of a better one, and I know for certain that if she catches up to me, she will not let my bird go.

The only coherent thought I can form centers around his safety. I've made him my responsibility over these past few months and I will not let her hurt him.

As I make my way down the hallway, I turn the corner to the staircase too quickly. Even though I've known from the start that trying to run down the staircase - especially with no hands - is a bad idea, I'm still unable to brace myself for the impact of the wooden steps coming into contact with my tail bone. I crash and bump all the way to the bottom, but refuse to stop as long as my body has a little fight left in it.

I'm slow, but age has not been well to my mother and with the added exertion my beating took on her, she is slower. I hear her screaming as she makes her way down the stairs, demanding me to stop, calling me names I could never imagine repeating.

Rye and Father are nowhere to be found and it becomes painfully obvious that she'd waited until this was the case to come up and "talk" to me in my bedroom. I don't have time to imagine where Dad's gone - Rye is known for disappearing at least - but I don't care because I'm not so sure even he could stop her right now.

When I reach the door, I fiddle with the lock a moment too long, allowing her time to catch up to me as I fly past the screen and onto the porch. She gives me one last push as I take the first step off and I fall down the rest of the way into a patch of muddy dirt where grass no longer grows.

"Get _out!" _she screams as I continue to hobble as quickly as I can in the opposite direction of the house. _"Leave!" _

...As if I would stay.

I wander around the dark and empty streets for a while, unsure of where I'm headed. I think about going to Clarissa and Bannock's - it's the closest place I know - but the thought of Clarissa's face as I stumbled through the doors, or having to explain to her the situation in detail keeps me from making the turn to their driveway.

I'm in front of Katniss's house before it fully registers, and if I had been in a better frame of mind I might have not come here tonight. She of all people doesn't need to see this. But I also know that she of all people _understands _and right now that's something I really need.

I knock a few times and am taken off-guard when the door opens quicker than I imagine, sending me toppling into Katniss when I lose my footing completely. Immediately, she senses something is wrong and her arms lace around me in support, tightening nervously.

"Peeta?" I can hear the desperation and fright in her voice as she attempts to help lower me softly to the floor.

"Oh my god, what the hell happened?"

"Wh-Wh-Where's Prim?" I ask as I glance around, my voice laced with a panic I hadn't been expecting. Katniss follows my gaze to where it rests in every direction of the room before her lips press into a hard line. "I-I-I don't want her to s-s-se-"

"-She's not here, Peeta," Katniss assures me, cupping her palm around my cheek. "She spent the night with a friend."

With realization, I allow my exhausted body to fall back into the wall behind me and my cramping hands to release its death grip on my balled t-shirt. Slowly, my bird pokes its head up from under the material and begins walking across my belly - apparently unharmed.

Katniss notes the little animal with wide eyes before scooping him up into her own hands, looking around for something to put him inside of.

"Don't _move," _she commands of me before jumping to her feet and disappearing into the kitchen. I hear the sounds of pots and pans slamming against one another before she pulls out a clear - and deep - plastic container, setting the bird down into it gently.

"N-n-no," I inhale and grit my teeth as I move too quickly. "It... He needs..."

"Peeta, we'll find him a more suitable home tomorrow but right now you need to take priority," Katniss scolds me, leaving the bird in the center of the table before coming back to me. She studies me for a long moment, her narrowed eyes burning into my own and her lips pressed in a tight line.

"Did your mother do this?" she asks, icily.

My silence is answer enough and Katniss shakes her head with a sarcastic chuckle, jumping to her feet.

"I'll kill her."

"K-Ka-Katniss," I stammer, grabbing hold of her foot as she reaches for the door. She turns back to me and her hardened eyes soften, her frown deepens. "Please," I beg.

"Peeta, she can't _do this_ to you!" she fights, her voice full of fury and passion.

"I know... _I know," _I sigh, trying to focus on Katniss but the world seems blurred and tilted. "I just... I need to l-l-lie down and... I just need to."

She stretches her arms out for me to take hold of and hoists me up frowning as my eyes clamp close and I suck in a large breath of air.

"I'm fine," I assure her, standing to my full height and Katniss eyes her small staircase skeptically.

"You'll be most comfortable upstairs," she says almost sheepishly. "Can you make it?"

"O-O-Of course," I nod and Katniss squeezes my hand in her own, forcing my attention back to her.

"Calm down," she urges, and I know it's in reference to my shaking and stammering voice. "You're all right."

"Yeah," I agree with an erratic nod and Katniss turns in the direction of the stairs without another word.

"Something told me it was you," she breathes, her voice barely audible with her head facing the opposite direction of me. I trail behind her, gripping the railing for support along the way.

"I knew it wouldn't be Prim or Mother... but I had a feeling it wasn't Gale or Madge either. I knew something was wrong."

"I didn't mean... to worry... y-y-you," I offer as Katniss pushes her bedroom door open. "I just... didn't know... where to go."

"Shhh," she urges, patting her bed. "Lay down."

I do as I'm told, allowing myself to fall limply onto the comfortable mattress, a part of me hoping not to ruin the sheets with my dirt and sweat covered skin. Katniss crawls to the far side which sits up against her wall and wraps her arms around my neck gingerly.

From where her chest is pressed against my arm, I can feel her heart beating and slowly her head falls to rest on top of my shoulder, placing a gentle kiss on the blade of it.

My head falls back as she trails her kisses over my jaw bone and up the side of my face, pushing my damp hair out from my eyes while soothingly humming. She runs her fingertips over a particularly tender spot on my forehead and as I wince draws back quickly. It'll probably be bruised over by morning.

"I'll be right back," Katniss whispers, crawling across the bed. I hear her light footsteps move across the room before disappearing down the hall and move my forearm up to my eyes, swiping underneath them before she can see the small beaded tears that are threatening to spill over.

It's not even that I'm _sad_ or _embarrassed _this time. I'm more than used to Mother taking her anger out on me and now that it's out in the open with Katniss, the embarrassment isn't nearly as acute as it had been in the past.

I'm just... stuck.

And I don't know how to fix it.

So the tears that continue to fall, even past my greatest effort to keep them in solely out of frustration.

I feel a cool compress against the edge of my cheek suddenly and jump at the contact. Katniss holds the cloth against my face with more pressure silently, while running her fingertips over my forearm with the hand that isn't busy.

Her small fingers run themselves up the sides of my face, through my hair and down the sides of my ears, gently stroking the lobes before coming to a rest at the base of my neck.

Half her weight is pressed into my body, but I only feel her as a ghost, her light form barely hovering above my heavy one. She places one last kiss on the bruised skin underneath my right eye before slithering down to my feet, removing my muddy shoes from my foot and then prosthetic.

She's so... _gentle_ that I can't help but sigh as her hands find my foot and begin to rub it tenderly.

"There's so many things you deserve, Peeta," she finally whispers, staring intently at the sole of my foot. "But _this," _she motions to my body before her hands fall dejectedly on her thigh.

"You _do not_ deserve this," her voice cracks on the last word and I sit up fully just in time to see her top teeth clamp down hard on her bottom lip. I catch her glistening eyes under the light of the stars and moon and she turns her head away from me, shaking it.

"Katniss?" I breathe.

She stands suddenly from her spot at the end of the bed and motions for me to move over a little, so she can lay more fully beside me. I lay an arm across the bed and her head rests in the crook of it, curling herself into me.

Her hands roam my chest, playing with the buttons of my shirt as she stares off into nothingness and I stare at her.

I kiss her forehead, like she had mine, and in return she kisses the edge of my neck.

"I love you," she whispers, shakily, and I almost don't believe my ears. I stare down at her, blinking rapidly and my mouth parts just slightly. Her eyes widen intensely and she shoots up from her spot entwined with me, pulling at her hair nervously.

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, "This... probably wasn't the place too-"

"-I l-love you too," I say, a smile pressing to my lips timidly. Katniss stares at me blankly, blinking a couple of times to fill the silence. An airy chuckle escapes from me and before I fully register the action, I'm saying it again:

"Katniss, I love you."

"Well," she says airily, scooting closer to me. Her hand wraps around my neck gently and her face in mere inches from my own when she breathes, "This is good news."

"The best," I swallow and a second later her lips meet mine. I feel her breath - coming out in heavy pants - pan across my cheeks as her tongue flicks its way over my own. My chest clenches tightly and I can feel my heart beating through the vein in my neck, which her finger caresses tenderly.

I feel Katniss's leg slip over my middle and she uses it as leverage to pull herself up onto me without breaking our kiss. The sound of the mattress squeaking below our movements seems too loud for the otherwise silent house, and through her cracked window I make out the sound of crickets chirping quietly along the grass.

My hand dips down to run along the smooth exposed skin of Katniss's leg and she lets out a faint gasp into my mouth, tightening her hold around my neck. Her hips buck closer into mine and she builds up a rhythm, slowly gyrating into my straining erection.

Her lips part from my own, letting out a deep sigh she had been holding and a moment later trace down along my neck as she works my t-shirt up and over my arms and head. Her hands roam over my arms, causing goosebumps to form before she moves back up and along my chest, flicking over my nipples and dipping so low my stomach muscles clench and spasm.

Involuntarily, I buck my hips further into her own as she rakes her fingernails across the sensitive skin underneath my belly button before fiddling with the buckle of my belt. Her hands are shaky and clumsy and fumble over themselves several times before she gets the thing unclasped and pulls it free from my jeans loops.

"Is this okay?" she pants, working her hand through the zipper of my jeans to come to rest over the bulge in my boxer-briefs. I groan in response, tilting my head back and grinding slowly into her cupped palm. Her warm hand glides over my aching skin in a steady motion before she offers it a squeeze which causes me to tense up again with a grunt.

"Yes," I moan lowly. "It's o-o-okay."

"Me too," she whispers, placing my hands on the edge of her t-shirt. I hook my fingers into the material of her t-shirt and pull it up and over her arms and head. When I run my fingertips across the swells of her breasts, the skin peeking over the fabric of her bra pebbles.

"Peeta," she breathes shakily, rocking her core over my thigh steadily. "I want you."

I glance up at her and my hands which struggle with the clasp of her bra still suddenly. Her deep eyes, laced with lust bore into mine and her top teeth dart out to bite down delicately on her bottom lip. Realization that she's still waiting on an answer hits me and my mouth - slightly agape - clamps shut as I swallow heavily, my head nodding profusely without permission. Her eyebrow lifts slightly in confirmation and as if to prove my point I pull more hardily at the tricky clasp of her bra.

_I want you... _her words send shivers down my spine as I lean back, allowing her to unhook herself and throw the unneeded garment off to the side. _Katniss_ wants me. _Katniss._

I cup her breasts in my palms, kneading the soft flesh with my fingers and tweaking the nipples until they harden into points. Katniss lets off soft gasps and moans, bucking with more urgency against me. I fall forward and rest my lips within the valley of skin between my busy hands and kiss and lick at it while her hands tug eagerly on my unzipped jeans.

"I uh..." I'm shaking as her fingers trace the ridge of my cock. "I didn't... I don't have any... c-c-"

"I'm on birth control," she whimpers and I frown slightly into her skin, cursing myself as I stumble over my words.

"O-oh..."

"Only for silly girl things," she half-chuckles, half-gasps. "Like period regulations and _uhhh_... stuff."

I pinch her nipple slightly harder than I intend and she lets out a sharp hiss, tightening her grip around me. Her free hand comes to snake itself in my hair, pulling on the roots until I look up at her fully, her eyes trained intently on my own.

"This is my first time doing this," she breathes in a promise, and I feel silly for even making such a big deal out of it. It's not like I had expected her to be a virgin... I mean, Katniss Everdeen is _beautiful _and well-liked amongst our peers. It would not be a stretch of the imagination. And it's not something I have the right to hold against her if she hadn't been.

But, I can't deny the weight that seems to have been lifted from my chest at her declaration.

Softly, I flip her off of me so that she lays on her back beside me and then stand up off her bed. The movement is a little quicker than it ought to be and as my tight and bruised muscles stretch out I wince, trying desperately to contort my face to a more neutral expression before Katniss can see. Because Katniss might _want_ me but I _need_ her. More now than ever.

And I refuse to let anyone take that away from me.

I slip my pants and boxer-briefs off in one motion, kicking them to the pile of clothing which has formed off to the side before climbing back onto the bed. I cast a double-take in Katniss's direction as she lays sprawled before me in absolutely nothing. It's not the first time I've seen her like this, but it still causes a gust of air to rush past my lungs, stalling my breath.

"God," I pant, reaching out to run my fingertips along her exposed stomach. She clenches slightly at the feathery touch and squirms under my scrutiny. Her eyes roam my own naked body, coming to land at my hips where she licks her lips slightly and smiles shyly back up at me.

And I don't know what to do next.

My cheeks sting with embarrassment at my cluelessness, because even though this is both of our first time, I'm sure Katniss has at least an idea of what is supposed to come next.

And to some extent, I do too. I'm not an idiot, I know... _how it works _and all - thanks to middle school health class - but, I wouldn't know how to begin getting to... that point.

"Peeta?" Katniss's voice wakes me from my haze and I turn back to her with wide and nervous eyes. My hands have begun to ball themselves in the material of her blanket and I twist it noticeably around in circles.

"I want to," I say in answer to the question I see in her eyes. They perk up slightly with my admission and the corners of her lips twist up into a smirk.

"I want you..." I breathe, barely able to get the words out before her lips are back on my own. She pushes me to my back and climbs onto me in a straddling position gently. Her hands rake a trail over the tender skin on my stomach and down to grab hold of my hardness. She guides me in between her folds, teasing my tip with her glistening and warm skin. I inhale deeply, gripping the bed sheets below me, hard. When I find her entrance her eyes meet mine one last time and she raises an eyebrow as if to ask: _are you sure?_

I nod slightly, my eyes falling closed already, because just the feeling of her tightness engulfing my head is almost too much to handle. With confirmation, she presses herself down further onto me, gasping slightly at the pressure and gripping my balled fist with her own. I release my fingers from the bed spread and allow them to entwine with her own and she rubs my skin gently with her thumb, giving it a tight squeeze.

"Oh shit," she whispers, biting her lip when I'm finally fully inside of her. Her gasps and whimpers are laced with pleasure, but also hint at an edge of pain and my body stiffens instinctively as she lets out another sharp breath.

"Kat...niss?" I ask, trying to sound sincere but the last part of her name comes out in a deep groan that I'm unable to suppress.

"I'm okay," she assures me, but her head nods too quickly. "Just... give me a moment."

"Kay," I breathe, more than willing to comply because I know if I were to move right now there's a fairly good chance I might explode.

It's unlike anything I've ever felt before. She's so _warm_, almost to the point of having a dizzying effect on me and with any slight movement I become increasingly more aware of the extreme wetness that encases her, sliding along my skin and dripping down the inside of her thighs. With each deep inhale, she tightens around me further, causing my head to drop back into the pillow and my teeth to clamp down on the inside of my cheek harder.

It's so _good._

"Okay Peeta," she pants, her breasts moving up and down mesmerizingly. "I'm going to... move now."

"Kay," I whisper, it being the only word seemingly left in my vocabulary. She nods slowly in response and slowly lifts herself up off of me until only the tip is left inside her warmness. The cool air against my skin makes it impossibly more sensitive and I suck in a breath as she plunges down - engulfing me once more.

She gyrates her hips down onto me a little, causing us both to gasp loudly and without warning, my hand thats not squeezing her own comes to rest on her hipbone. I squeeze it tightly, rubbing my thumb along her pebbling skin and easing her down onto me at a general pace.

Her upper body falls down to mine after a few minutes, her breasts pressing against my chest and breath tickling my neck before she begins pressing kisses to it. She moves her hips up and down, using her legs for leverage and I can feel her heart beating quickly inside her chest.

Mine is going insane. It's hard to breathe. It's hard to do anything but focus on the feeling of my body inside of her own. It's incredible - how indescribably close I feel to her in this moment.

"Katniss," I whisper, craning my neck to plant a kiss onto her cheek. "_Ughh, _it f-f-feels so... good."

"I know," she whispers, taking our entwined hands and wrapping them around her back. I run my fingers along the small of it, down to the curve of her butt and squeeze it tightly as her hand comes to rest on my shoulder.

"I won't... last much... longer," I say gently, burying my head in the crook of her neck, allowing my tongue to swipe over her salty skin. Her mouth opens widely and her head falls back slightly as she lets out the faintest moan, her movements quickening.

"Come then," she commands, biting my earlobe. _"Please."_

It's all I need. I try holding off until she's there, but the feeling of her tightening around me, her teeth on my sensitive skin and hands raking over my shoulders, it's impossible for me to wait any longer.

I grunt deeply, my hips bucking erratically as I pulse and spill inside of her. A moment later, I feel her contract around me, her breaths coming out unevenly as she comes undone on top of me. Her body turns to jelly as she lays limply on my chest, her body spasming every now and then from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

"I love you," I breathe against her hair, giving her scalp a kiss.

The hand that is firmly planted over my heart tightens against my skin slightly and she places her own kiss to my collarbone a moment later.

"I love you too, Peeta."

* * *

After a few minutes of laying peacefully entwined with one another, Katniss moves to get off the top of me and get cleaned up and changed. I follow her lead, ignoring the sharp pains that stab my back and sides and moving to slide myself up off the bed. Katniss insists that I spend the night, telling me that she will not accept "no" as an answer.

When I voice my concerns about her Mother coming home and finding us, Katniss only rolls her eyes, promising she won't be home before sunrise and that even if she is, Mrs. Everdeen _never_ comes into Katniss's room... ever.

"Okay," I finally agree quietly, slipping into my boxers. I leave my jeans and t-shirt on the ground because they're still caked with dirt that I don't think Katniss would appreciate me tracking into her bed with me. She emerges from the bathroom in a pair of black shorts and a thin tank top which showed off the peaks of her nipples.

She crawls onto the opposite side of the bed as me, mirroring my position by laying on her back, looking up at the ceiling. The moon reflects brightly on it, casting shadows in different directions, including along the right side of her face.

I'm still thinking about her earlier words: _I love you, _when her hand reaches out to find mine, giving it one of her signature squeezes. Katniss has told me before she doesn't say things she doesn't mean, but it's hard for me to wrap my mind around the idea of someone actually _loving_ me. And not out of obligation either but because... she really wants to.

It feels like a dream and I keep waiting for reality to set in, for the horrible truth to shake me awake...

But it doesn't. _This_ is reality.

With Katniss's confession, and school only days away, I can no longer hold off asking the question that has been eating away at me for the past several weeks. Because as much as I want to understand and just _know_ these things, I can't without confirmation.

"Hey uh... Katniss?"

"Yes?" she yawns into the air.

"I've been thinking... about something..." I trail off, expecting her to say something, but she stays quiet until she finally tilts her head in my direction, her expression neutral.

"Yes?"

"Um well... school is starting again... soon-"

"Two days," she breathes and I nod, swallowing heavily.

"Yes, um. Two days."

"What about it?"

"Well... I guess I was just wondering... what do you... think... might happen when it starts... again."

"What do you mean?"

"I-I mean... are we... what will we...?"

"We'll go to school," she concludes. _"Together."_

The stress she places on her final word does not go unnoticed and I'm unable to help the large smile that spreads to my face. From the corner of my eye I can still see her head turned in my direction and feel her eyes on me and gently, her hand holding my own tightens twice.

I copy the motion, giving her hands two squeezes and she inhales deeply before we fall asleep.

* * *

Thank you for reading and also thanks to anyone who left a review last chapter or added me to their alerts/favorites. Follow me on tumblr if you'd like: finnickshardtrident :)


	17. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

A big thank you to my beta fnur for all her help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

My eyes fly open at the sound of the alarm buzzing throughout the bedroom and my body stiffens tightly on the mattress. The sunrise dances through the cracks in the closed blinds and casts weird shadows on the ceiling that I stare up at. My hands entwine in the comforter, bunching it up in my sweaty palms nervously.

It feels like last year has just ended and already my very last fall semester is beginning. My stomach knots uncomfortably inside of me and when I swallow heavily, more spit pools in my mouth only moments later.

"Would you turn that thing _off?"_ Rye groans, flipping from his back onto his belly and pulling his pillow over the top of his head. I reach out for it blindly, smacking my hand around on my nightstand until I find the button and the persistent beeping ends.

_6:45 am. _

I'm already running a little late. Rye should be getting up sometime soon too. He has an early shift in the bakery which I remember him and Dad talking about. But, I also remember Rye coming up to bed grumbling to himself when he thought I was asleep. He's still bitter about not being able to go away for college - about being stuck in this small town, working at this _damn bakery_ for his _damn fucked up family. _

Can't say I blame him.

I reach out for my prosthetic instead of the crutch I usually use in the mornings and fit it to my leg easily. The overnight stiffness my leg has acquired makes walking a little difficult first thing in the morning, but by the time I've made it to the bathroom, I've adjusted. There's not enough time for a shower this morning, so I settle for splashing some fresh water onto my cheeks, watching as droplets fall down into the porcelain sink quietly. I brush my teeth and run a hand through my messy hair before turning back to Rye and my bedroom.

He's up and nowhere to be found now, but has left the blinds open to let in some sunlight from outside. I stare at my closet for a long time with folded arms and a perplexed expression - similar to the way I had the first time I ever went over to Katniss's house. I don't typically care about what I wear on a given day - it's only clothing - but not only is today my first day of my last year of high school but... I have a girlfriend.

And I'd really hate to embarrass her.

I'm not completely sure how long Katniss will want to keep this up for, but I think I've made it clear to her that as long as she wants me, I'm hers to have.

I end up settling on a lightweight navy henley type shirt and some jeans. It's long-sleeved, but it helps to hide the marks and bruises which are at their peak from just a couple days ago.

Katniss was shocked the morning after we woke up in her bed together. She pulled back the covers more fully and I watched in horror as her eyes grew wide and her mouth rounded largely before her hand could slap across it.

She cried. Well, not really cried, but almost. She thinks I didn't see, but of course I did. It was hard not to miss the way her eyes glistened and how her throat bobbed as she swallowed heavily. She turned away from me a minute later and I could hear her sniffing as she blinked back tears which threatened to expose themselves.

It made me feel like shit. How am I supposed to protect her, to care for her when I'm incapable of even caring for myself? It's pathetic and stupid.

I sigh deeply at the image before me in the mirror: blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt on an eighty degree day was as good as it was going to get.

Rye is the only one awake. When I get downstairs, I see him emerging from the basement with a large bag of flour flung over his shoulder. He stops for a moment, still breathing deeply, to look me over. His eyes trail down my body and back up to my face, where he releases a sympathetic smile. I pull at the sleeves of my shirt nervously before offering him a half-hearted shrug, forcing my lips to turn up in the corners.

To say Rye had been pissed when he found out about mine and Mother's latest encounter would be an understatement. Like Katniss, Rye wanted to confront Mother and I literally had to hold him back to keep him from storming down the stairs. It was a difficult action, given his natural strength and my aching arms, but he finally gave up, pushing himself away from my grasp and pacing the room with his hands firmly knotted in his hair.

I hadn't even known if I'd be allowed back home. Late in the afternoon, when I finally worked up the courage to tell Katniss I needed to go home, she offered me a ride. It was silent and when we pulled into my driveway, she offered to wait outside for me.

"You could just go get your things," she promised. "Come back and stay with us. No one would mind."

I told her it was all right, that I would be fine and it really wasn't as bad as it looked. It was a stupid lie to tell, one that made even my own eyebrows furrow in confusion, because Katniss already knew. There were no secrets between us anymore.

Only Father was in the bakery when I walked through the doors, and when his head lifted up to see me standing there, he flung himself forward into my arms. I was taken back, and tried not to wince at the pressure of him slamming into me as I wrapped my arms around him tightly. He didn't say anything, but I could hear his short sniffles as he patted my back every couple of moments.

"I... I didn't know where you were," he finally breathed and I pulled away. His eyes were rimmed red, as was his nose, and his hands held a slight shake to them. "I didn't know if you were coming back."

"I'm fine," I promised, catching Katniss backing down the driveway from the corner of my eye. "It's fine."

I kind of expected Dad to say something like "no, it's not" or "we need to do something about this" but, he didn't. He just patted my back, told me he's happy to see me and dismissed himself back to work.

Mother hasn't said much of anything to me since my re-arrival. The first time she even noticed I was home was that night at dinner. She came down the stairs steadily, her venomous eyes locking on mine before she let out a small snort, fell into her chair and asked Dad to pass the green beans.

I saw Rye clench his fist around the fork he held and had to shoot him several looks in order to successfully calm him.

"Try to have fun at school," Rye grunts, heaving the bag of flour further up over his shoulder. "Say hi to Katniss for me."

"Okay," I agree while walking over to the hallway closet. I pull free my old book bag from where it's been tucked away all summer and sling it over my shoulder. There's not much of anything inside. I didn't really get the chance to go school shopping for supplies, but I have some pens and pencils and an old notebook I found in our bedroom, so I stuff those things inside and zipper it up before heading for the door.

Without Rye, the walk to school is a little unnerving. My footsteps on the cement sound too loud for the otherwise quiet atmosphere and it feels as though it takes twice as long to get there... which, I guess in perspective, isn't the worst thing.

Katniss offered to bring me in with her this morning, but she had to be there early for some sort of meeting and I also knew that she'd want time to spend saying hello to the friends she neglected most of the summer... for me. So, I told her I'd just meet her there, using helping out in the bakery as an excuse, and just so I could make sure I wasn't lying, I helped Rye sweep this morning.

The closer I get to the main doors, the larger the sea of students seem to grow, and the crazier. I'm nearly knocked over by two screaming girls who rush to greet each other excitedly, jumping up and down and pass several groups of friends smiling for "first day" pictures.

The doors leading inside are crowded, with students pushing and shoving to get through. I fall back, clinging to the heavy door with my one arm and allowing groups of people to pass through. They obliviously pass by without so much as a word to me.

_This year is going to be different, _I remind myself, sticking my hands into my pockets as I finally make my way through the doors. And it _will_ be different. Last year, I really didn't have anyone... not even Rye.

But this year I have not only a girlfriend, but a best friend. _She promised._

I nod to myself a little in confirmation and run my tongue over my chapped lips just so I have something to focus on during the long walk to my locker.

I keep an eye peeled for Katniss, but haven't seen her since my arrival. She told me yesterday she'd try to stay close by her locker, but my locker is in a completely different hallway and I feel anxious about not going to make sure my combination works.

It does... and after locking it and re-trying three times, I figure I've stalled enough and should go to look for Katniss.

_I'll feel better once I've seen her, _I encourage myself, pulling my book bag up higher onto my shoulders, my hands fumbling around with the straps. I don't know why my heart is pounding so quickly in my chest, or why the saliva keeps pooling in my mouth like I might throw up, but the closer I grow to where her locker is, the slower my feet move and the lower my head falls, as if by instinct.

_She doesn't care what people say. She doesn't care that they think I'm weird. She doesn't, _I chant to myself a couple of times, squeezing my eyes shut as if to drill it into my mind. _She loves me. She told me so. She doesn't care. She told me so._

"Hey, Katniss!"

My eyes open at the sound of her name (and I hadn't really realized that they were still closed... as I do, I feel my cheeks begin to sting on my face) and I look around for signs of her nearby. This hallway isn't a particularly busy "intersection" and after a group of five or six chatty girls walk by, I catch sight of her, leaning against her locker, books pressed to her chest while three other girls surrounded her.

She was smiling, but it was one I'd come to recognize as being fake, and she pressed a piece of hair behind her ear before glancing up in my direction. Her eyes brighten as she does a double-take and catches my gaze with her own from across the hallway. My veins pulse with my ragged heart beat and my throat seizes up, making it hard to swallow fully.

And then I panic.

I pull my hand loose from its spot wrapped around my book bag strap and do the first thing I think to do - wave.

I _wave_ at her, and not even a confident: _Hey! What's up?_ kind of wave... a frightened, juvenile, two-second jerking motion that could easily be mistaken for a body spasm. Even as I'm doing it all I can think about is how stupid it must seem, but my hand refuses to stop until it hits the side of my thigh and her smile falters slightly. The tense smile I'd painted to my face falls too as I inwardly curse the awkwardness forever engrained in me. To my surprise, her lips twist up into a playful smirk a moment later and she takes a few daring steps in my direction until she's standing directly in front of me, in the center of the hallway.

"Hi, Peeta," she greets gently, her tone soothing.

"Hi... Katniss."

"I was wondering if you were _ever_ going to come find me," she teases, folding her arms over her middle and tapping her foot. "But you didn't honestly believe you could get away with just _waving_ at me, did you?"

"I'm sorry," I whisper, wishing I had something cold to press against the burning tips of my ears.

"I'm your girlfriend now, remember?" she continues, raising an eyebrow at me. "We love each other. There are _expectations _now."

She nudges me playfully until the corners of my lips rise to match her own and I can feel the muscles in my face spasm and twitch, shakily.

"Hey," she whispers, curling a finger at me - a silent instruction to bring my head forward. I do as I'm told, craning my neck down a little until the center of her forehead touches my own and I can feel her breath on the tip of my nose. She brings a hand up to my cheek and runs her finger along it gently, making me shudder.

"Don't be nervous," she mouths.

"I'll try," I say back, acutely aware of the stares being cast our way. She lifts her head up more fully, so that her forehead no longer presses against mine and looks to me with a new-found intensity to her stare. Her gray eyes look darker under the fluorescent lighting, reminding me of a few nights ago... the first time we ever...

I swallow deeply as her hand trails across the back of my neck, scratching my skin lightly.

"Katni-" I start, but before I can even think to finish the rest of my sentence, her lips crash onto my own roughly. Her hand tightens around my neck to ensure I don't pull away. It's a short kiss, less than five seconds and then she's drawing back, her eyes focused on my parted lips. Her tongue swipes over own mesmerizingly before her eyes glance from side to side at the growing number of watchers we've accumulated.

It takes me longer to lift my eyes, but when I do, I note the range of different looks around us: most with confusion and distaste from the public display of affection, a couple that appear to be seemingly genuine, and others... mostly freshman... who pass obliviously.

Katniss wraps her hand around my own and pulls me closer to her locker, where the three girls who had been standing there previously look us over, unblinkingly.

"How was your morning?" Katniss continues easily, as if there weren't a hundred pair of prying eyes that were focused in on us, or the hushed conversations passing by didn't include our names in it...

"Pretty good," I reply, unable to help the slightly goofy grin from appearing on my face. "Can't... complain."

"Me neither," she winked before turning to her quiet friends. "Peeta, this is Annie, Johanna and Delly. Guys, you know Peeta."

"Hi, Peeta," Delly offers first, sticking a hand out to shake. "Nice to _officially_ meet you."

Delly and I have shared classes with one another since kindergarten, as is the case with most the kids in our grade. She's always been a pretty girl, with long blonde hair, bright blue eyes and dimpled cheeks that stuck with her even after she'd grown into the rest of her body. She's always been talker, which caused people to think she was a little ditzy.. but I knew from her comments in class and papers I've seen her turn in that she's actually really smart.

And kind...

I remember in fifth grade we did this thing called _Star of the Week _and the week of your birthday you got to be the center of attention. It was typical for your family to come in and bring a treat, and the whole week the class did different activities that were all about _you. _It was supposed to be fun, but only ended up being a large source of stress for me. I'd even approached my teacher, asking hesitantly if there was any way we could just skip over my week, but she insisted I followed through and would really enjoy it...

But the day my family was scheduled to come in, no one showed up. Dad couldn't get the time off from the bakery and Mom refused to come, insisting Rye and Bannock could not be pulled from classes to attend either. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, and after waiting for what seemed like _hours_ for them to show when I knew they were not coming, my teacher suggested that I hand out the treat I'd brought and we could move on for the day.

Well anyway, as I was doing this, most the kids didn't say much of anything, but Delly did. Not only did she thank me for the cookie but she also made it a point to come up to me afterward and tell me how good it was, asking if it was something I made in the bakery. I'd answered a quiet yes and she grinned, telling me again how good it was. I ended up giving her the leftovers before she left for home that day.

Delly's outstretched hand waits until I lock mine with it and give it a slight shake, overing a quick smile to go along with it.

I don't expect her to remember that little moment so long ago... after all, Delly is nice to everyone.

I've never talked with Johanna before because... to be quite honest, she always sort of scared me. Her natural loudness and bluntness was something I tended to shy away from because she called everyone's attention to herself and the people she surrounded. It embarrassed me just to _think_ about it.

Same holds true for today as she lunges forward and wraps her arms around my middle, smacking my back heavily before gripping either side of my shoulders. Her grin widens at what must be the most ridiculous expression on my face before she pushes me back with a little more force than I think is intended and leans back against the row of lockers.

"I _knew_ Katniss had the hots for you last year," Johanna said confidently, snickering as Katniss's face turns as bright as mine feels. "Glad she finally grew a pair of balls this summer-"

"-_Johanna," _Katniss speaks, warningly.

"What? You did! You grew a ball sack, Everdeen, and now look at ya! Makin' out in hallways, giddy as a fucking clown..." she trails off at the sound of laughter, which evidently is coming out from me. Katniss gives me a playful look of surprise before smacking my arm.

"Peeta!"

"See, he thinks it's funny," Johanna beams triumphantly, "Yeah, I like this guy. Good choice."

"God! Any second now he's going to take off running."

"Never."

* * *

By the end of the day, Katniss and my relationship is all anyone is talking about. More than once as I'm walking through the halls I hear our names whispered on people's lips, their friend's mouths opening wide in shock by the weirdest couple of the new year.

"_Him? She's hooking up with _him?"

"_Uh huh! They were practically dry-humping in the hallway today!"_

"_Grossssss."_

My first reaction to these kinds of comments, the wayward glances and snickers is to be embarrassed... but, as the day goes on and I see Katniss more, I try really hard not to dwell on their commentary or lies, and rather just be excited for myself for once. I mean, I'd lasted my first day of senior year... my very first day of high school with a girlfriend _mostly_ scot free and thanks to Katniss, I'd even made a couple friends along the way.

Katniss and I have three classes together, including lunch. But after meeting Johanna, we realized we shared the same Science period and she even asked me to be her lab partner for the year. Annie was in my Culinary class - something she regrets signing up for, because according to her she can barely microwave popcorn - but she's also in my Art class and as it turns out, is a very talented painter. Delly shares the same lunch period as the rest of us and sits at the round table that is almost completely full - so different from my lonely lunch period last year.

And then there's Finnick. I first met him during lunch when he threw his tray down on the table, wrapped an arm around Annie and drew her in for a kiss. It startled me a little - especially after the allotted time for appropriate PDA had passed and I could hear the sound of their tongues sliding against each others - but when I glanced at Katniss she only winked, her lips pulled up a little in the corners.

"Who's this?" he asked of me immediately after breaking away from her, wiping a bead of saliva that'd pooled under her bottom lip.

Finnick sort of reminded me of the male-version of Johanna, loud, blunt... but _really_funny. He was cool and we had Gym and English together, my last two classes of the day.

"Catch ya later, Peeta," he called out, rounding the corner of the hallway opposite of where I was headed.

"See you... tomorrow... Finnick."

"Peeta!"

I whip my head around and smile as I see Prim rushing in my direction, her eyes wide and smile long. Katniss had told me earlier that she was up at the crack of dawn curling her hair this morning, so when I mention how nice it looks, she only beams harder.

"I thought for sure I might run into you earlier than now!" she exclaims, a little disappointed. "How was your first day?"

"Good," I reply honestly, smiling as she entwines her small arm around mine. "How was... yours?"

"Fabulous," she rushed out, as if it weren't really what she'd wanted to talk about at all. "Did Katniss tell you the news?"

"What news?"

She grins mischievously, tightening her grip on me and wiggling from left to right, as if she were really excited about something.

"Can you come over after school?" she asks and I can't quite keep up with her bouncing topic changes.

"What news?" I ask again and she erupts into a fit of excited giggles.

"You'll see! You'll see! But can you come over?"

"Prim, you look far too guilty to be up to any good," Katniss smirks, approaching us slowly, flinging her bag over her shoulder. My hand reaches out for hers instinctively before pulling back, but before it can touch my thigh she grabs hold of it in her own, trailing her thumb along it gently.

"She has... news," I explain as we walk out past the school's doors, wincing in the sunlight.

"Ahh yes, _the news," _Katniss nods, leaning forward past me to lock stares with Prim before winking knowingly. "Are you coming over?"

"If you... want me-"

"Yes! You _have to!" _Prim continues boisterously, her voice deepening with passion on her last words.

"You have to," Katniss replies with a shrug. "Prim has spoken. It is law."

"Okay," I smile as she leads us off to where she parked this morning. While pulling out of the school parking lot, Katniss asks what I thought of everyone - especially Finnick - beaming happily when I reply with all good things.

"I think it'll be nice," she replies. "Having some more friends. They all really like you too."

When an easy silence falls between Katniss and I, Prim pokes her head up between the middle of our seats and chatters on about her day in extreme detail - from first period to sixth, only stopping there because we're home and her mind bounces back to _the news._

"Close your eyes," Prim commands when we stand on their front porch. She fiddles with her keys for a second, casting me a skeptical look before the world around me falls black.

"Katniss, put your hands around them to make sure he doesn't cheat."

"I'm not... cheating," I chuckle as I hear her front door squeak open. Katniss's hands cover my eyes anyway and I can faintly make out the smell of wildflowers on her skin.

"Okay, step forward inside," Prim says, taking my hand to guide me. Katniss walks close behind me, stepping on the backs of my heels occasionally to keep her hands in front of my eyes.

"Okay stop!"

I stop.

"Are you ready?"

"I... I think so."

"Open!"

It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, but when they do I see a large steel bird cage sitting on top of the Everdeen's kitchen table. It's tall, coming up to my forehead and has a ton of different ledges and toys for a bird to play with.

At the bottom, tweeting happily and bathing its feathers in fresh water is my bird.

"We thought maybe this was a little better than a plastic bowl," Katniss says quietly from her spot behind me.

"Or a... box..." I swallow, turning to face their eager eyes. Prim looks as if she's ready to explode, waiting for my reaction, but Katniss stands somber, her lips just slightly turned up and hands locked in each other.

"I... I don't know what... to say..." I speak, my voice cracking with emotion.

"Do you _love _it?" Prim inquires and I cast her a deep smile.

"I _love _it."

"Yes!" she squeaks, flinging her arms around me before moving past me to pull the bird out of its new and beautiful home. I take a step toward Katniss, whose smile has increased and pull her into a hug before she has time to say anything.

Her breath feels hot against my neck, where she maneuvers her head to fit into, tightening her hold on me and bunching the material of my shirt in her hands.

"Thank you," I whisper.

"We just figured that we could hold onto him for you for a little while... for as long as you need."

"I can't... t-t-thank you."

"You're welcome," she smiles, drawing my lips up into a quick kiss.

"Peeta! Does the bird have a name?"

We turn back to Prim, who has the small bird nuzzled in her hands, bringing him up to her lips to plant a soft kiss on his head.

"Because I've been thinking of some."

"_Prim," _Katniss reprimanded. "It's not your bird."

"No, it's... okay," I smile. "He... he actually doesn't... have a name."

Now that I'm thinking about it, I feel stupid for not having named the little guy... he was always just my bird... but I think part of that comes with the fear of attachment. Giving him a name meant another form of a bond with it, and the thought of bonding with something I knew was not mine to keep kind of made my heart hurt.

But Prim is right, he deserves a name.

"What did you... have in mind... Prim?"

"Welllll, at first I was thinking something along the lines of Sam, but I mean _everyone has a bird named Sam, _right?"

I shrug, unknowingly and she waves me off quickly.

"They do. So anyway, after a little bit of online research, I came up with a couple names and what do you think of... Salman?"

"Sal... man?"

"We could call him Sal for short!" she grins, before looking down at him again. "I've sort of been calling him it already, but it's okay if you don't like it, you can change it!"

She holds the bird out for me to take and I cup him into my arms, rubbing his feathers with my thumb.

"No, I like it..." I say, encouragingly, smiling at the small tweeting bird. _He looks so happy._

"Salman."

* * *

A shorter chapter, but I'm already half-way through the next so it won't be a long wait between updates. Thank you for reading and reviewing and adding to your favorites/alerts :) I appreciate it greatly.

Come chit chat on tumblr: finnickshardtrident.


	18. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

A big thanks to my beta fnur for all her lovely assistance with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

Four weeks into the school year and Katniss and my relationship is "old news." Still weird... but old news nonetheless. It's kind of a relief because for the first couple of weeks, it felt as though we'd be the talk of the school all year and the thought worried me. Because even though she'd told me _a hundred times_, there was still a small voice in the back of my head insisting that Katniss might want to give up on the whole thing if too many people kept talking.

But with homecoming being this weekend, its seems all anyone is able to talk about is the game and the dance afterward... that, and Glimmer and Cato's dramatic break-up yesterday afternoon. I didn't actually see it, and I've heard over five variations of what actually happened - all of which seem inaccurate. Typically, I wouldn't give a passing thought to Cato or Glimmer and their relationship, but it shifted the focus off Katniss and I, which sort of made me hope the drama would not soon end between them.

Although Cato and I shared an abundance of classes with one another last year, this year we only have one and the same lunch period together. The class was science, which could have been hell had Johanna not been around. All it took one comment about how the strong magnets we were experimenting with would probably get stuck on my prosthetic for Johanna to pounce protectively and get herself sent down to the principal's office.

Of course it was a little embarrassing - everyone's eyes shifted between the three of us, and then the two of us once she was escorted out - but unlike last year, when I had no one willing to jump to my defense, too afraid of casting Cato's wrath on them, or worried about what others might think of them defending _me_... this year I have good friends, and before Johanna could stalk out the door, she turned back to me with a quick wink.

"Freak," Cato had muttered, shaking his head in my direction once the class had died down, but other than that he has kept his association with me limited.

"So, party at my place tonight," Finnick informs us, eyeing his lunch suspiciously. Annie plucks a chip from his plate, grinning up at him when he casts her a fake frown.

"_Your_ place?" Johanna scoffs with a raised eyebrow. "Won't your parents flip their shit?"

"No they will not _flip their shit_ because they won't _know," _Finnick emphasizes. "Out of town for a 'get away weekend' which basically means they want to have loud, undisturbed sex."

"Gross..."

"Yeah. I have to live with that image in my mind for the rest of my life... I think one measly little party is good enough compensation."

"But _is it_ one measly 'little' party?" Katniss inquires with pursed lips, but all I can focus on is her soft hand running up and down the length of my thigh underneath the table. The reaction it causes is immediate and I feel my leg muscles clench as my jeans fit tighter around my groin. I glance up toward Katniss when she squeezes my leg teasingly, but her wicked eyes are focused forward.

"Um no, come on Everdeen, you know me..." Finnick continues on, shaking his head. "Open invite, so ask whoever the hell you want. Gale and Madge are here visiting for the weekend. They decided they're not "too cool" for lame-ass high school parties and are dropping in."

"Which is good, because Finnick told them if they didn't they'd be dead to him," Annie chimes with laughter. The table around us erupts into conversation, excited about their 'friends' return, and I'm excited too, because I liked hanging out with Gale before he went away and I think it'll be good to see him again.

Katniss leans her head in toward my own, the rest of the table oblivious as they continue to chatter on about tonight.

"Are you coming over after school today?" Katniss mumbles into my ear, her hand trailing impossibly higher up on my leg, causing me to let out a stuttering breath.

"Uh... sure, yeah," I breathe, clearing my throat as my voice cracks. I turn to meet her eyes and notice how dark and plump her pupils are and the way she runs her tongue across her lips, causing me to moan almost inaudibly.

"Prim won't be there," she assures me, before pressing a short one-second kiss to my lips. "She has club."

"Oh..." I nod, matching the smirk that crosses her lips. "That sounds good."

She nods back and I shiver as her nails graze the inside of my leg once more before she pats it and removes it completely. My hips sort of buck gently in search of her hand but a moment later I see it snake back up to the table, clutching her pen and continuing on with her given assignment.

A minute later, she nudges my elbow, pushing the binder closer to me.

_I haven't been able to get my mind off of you all day..._

I swallow deeply, wincing as my swollen dick jerks to life more fully inside of my pants. I search in desperation for the clock that hangs on the opposite wall of where we sit. Twenty minutes until my next class, I have twenty minutes to calm myself down or walk with more of a limp than I already have and a binder covering my groin.

_Are you trying to kill me? _I ask back, my eyes rolling lightly as I hear her snicker.

_What gave you that impression?_

"Hey lovebirds!"

Our heads snap up in the direction of our friends across the table, whose eyes are all firmly planted on us with knowing skepticism.

"What?" Katniss asks in the same, loud tone.

"Are you coming?"

"Where?"

"Fucking hell, pay attention! To the party tonight!"

"Yes! We are coming to your party tonight, oh my god!" Katniss says back, reaching her hands across the table to place them on either side of Finnick's head, shaking it with force.

She leans back into her chair and looks up at me with a genuine smile before asking, "Right?"

The only party I've ever been to was this one time in first grade, a boy in my class had a birthday party that he had to invite the whole class to. That was a few months before the accident, so Mother didn't have a problem with my going anyway... but, I don't really think that counts and I have no idea what sort of thing to expect.

But Katniss and my table of new-ish friends are looking at me anxiously, so I swallow thickly and nod my head with a smile to match their own.

"Right!"

* * *

During seventh period, I get to thinking about Mags and how I hardly see the woman who'd taken me under her wing anymore. She'd been incredibly happy to hear that I wouldn't need to hide in her office for lunch anymore, that I'd been invited to sit with a group of kids my own age and even had a _girlfriend._

"You've grown so much since I've met you, Peeta," she implored, opening her arms up for a hug that almost sort of felt like a premature goodbye. "I am so proud of you."

"Thank you," I smiled and accepted her hug. She patted my back a few times, holding me in her embrace before leaning in to whisper: "And I've noticed your speech has improved so much."

"Yes."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"You know, she really is a very lucky girl."

I hadn't seen her since the first week of school, because I rarely go to the nurse's office for being sick, and during my one free period of the day, I _really_ need to stay focused on my homework.

But today, I decide that it being Friday merits a day off from homework in my study hall and I ask the teacher to write me a pass to her office.

She seems surprised to see me when I step through the squeaky door, which makes my heart pang a little with sadness but I force a smile to my lips and offer her a heartfelt wave which she returns with music laughter, rising slowly from her spot at her desk.

"Don't get up," I insist, walking a little faster to meet where she already stands, waiting to pull me into a hug. I accept the tender greeting, patting her back lovingly before allowing her to sit back down.

"Are you sick?" she wonders worriedly, but I don't fail to note the glint that lights up her eyes when she notices me pulling my normal chair up to the side of her desk, making myself comfortable.

"No," I answer anyway, shaking my head. "Just... wanted to... say hello and see... how you are doing."

"Oh, I'm hanging in there," she grins before reaching out to give my arm a poke. "How are you?"

We chat about silly things like classes and books and which teachers I love and which ones I didn't love. She asked if I was still taking art classes and was elated when I answered 'yes' before asking her if she knew of Annie Cresta. She didn't, but I talked about how good of an artist she was and noticed the genuine smile that laced Mag's face.

"I'm so happy you made some good friends, Peeta," she speaks happily. "You've changed so much since last year."

Embarrassedly, I run a hand through my hair, ignoring the prickling of color staining my cheeks.

"Not that there was anything wrong with you last year," she continues, cutting a sliver of cheese from its wedge and placing it on top of a cracker. "But, you just seemed so... unhappy. And now you're always smiling and beaming..."

I chuckle and her smile deepens at the sound. The period was about halfway over by the time I arrived and now with only fifteen minutes left, I notice the pile of laundry sitting in the corner with guilt. I wonder how she's been getting it done this year.

"I can take... that laundry for... you," I offer, standing up to collect it.

"Oh no, no, no," she insists. "Don't you worry about that. One of the Home and Career's teachers has offered to come and pick it up for a weekly washing."

"Well... tell her the next time... she comes in... that I can... do it for you... next time," I say and she snickers, shaking her head from left to right.

"So much change and yet some things will never."

The bell rings a couple minutes later and I gather my things, casting her a wave with the promise of visiting again soon.

"Take care, Peeta," she waves back. "I'll see you again soon."

* * *

After final bell, I walk out to the parking lot to find only Katniss standing by her car, an anxious look to her face. As expected, Prim is nowhere to be found and when Katniss glances up to see me her eyes widen anxiously and her lips turn up slightly.

"Hey," I greet from the opposite side of the car, falling down into the passenger seat easily.

"How was the rest of your classes?" she asks, starting the car up before her seatbelt is even buckled. It clicks a moment later before she tears out from her parking space and down the street leading away from the school.

"They were fine," I answer a moment later, leaning to the left as she makes a sharp turn. I note the way her eyes flicker from her mirrors to the side of my face and back to the front of the road every so often. When they meet mine, they light up with a slightly familiar glisten that makes my heart beat faster inside of my chest. Her soft-spoken words from lunch jump to the forefront of my mind, making the air significantly more dry and causing my tongue to sit heavily in my mouth.

It'd been much harder to focus for the remainder of the day after our little encounter... especially with her silent promise of _more. _

"Yours?" I finally croak out, having found my voice to ask. Some time must have passed since I last spoken because Katniss eyes me in bewilderment for a long minute before her eyes light up with realization and she shrugs her shoulders a little, somewhat dazed.

"Glad it's over."

"Yeah..."

Katniss sails through another green light before turning onto her street smoothly. An anticipatory silence falls between us for the remainder of the time it takes to cruise down her street and pull into her driveway. Katniss has her door half open before the car is barely in park and I follow her example, opening my own hastily and fumbling with my book bag which rest at my feet on the floor of her car.

She's a step ahead of me, switching to grip her house key in her hand, fitting it into the lock and twisting it almost expertly while her eyes hardly ever left my own. I swallowed the thick pool of saliva in my mouth heavily, casting her what I hope to be a confident smile, but I can feel the corners of my lips twitching nervously.

She pushes the door open, stepping through a couple steps ahead of me before turning back, her fingers knotted at the bottom of her braid, twisting the small chunk of hair there around her finger. She shifts her weight from left to right, eyes wide and almost expectant.

Shit... it's evident in her expression she wants me to say something. _Anything. _But my mouth feels parched. My mind searches in a frenzy for something clever or smart to say in response to the moment, but I continue to come up short. Looking back at the moments we've shared with one another over the past month and a half... I can't really remember a time where _I've _initiated. For the most part, I've simply followed Katniss's instructions, allowing her to take the lead and simply following behind.

But maybe... she doesn't want that anymore.

I kick my shoes off into the corner where a large pile sits before running my hand over the back of my head by habit. From somewhere deep inside of me, I bolster up some courage and clear my throat, gaining her attention after a long awkward pause.

"I um... I spent most the day today... thinking about you," I admit, biting the inside of my cheeks to help relieve the stinging I felt on their outsides. "A lot."

The corners of her lips - pursed down in an unsure manner twist up with my words and she sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down on it heavily.

_God._

She takes a hesitant step forward, and then another, walking closer to me until there is no room between our bodies. Her hands land on my chest, balling the material of my shirt before pushing me back with force until my back is flush against their front door. I let out a light grunt with the pressure but before the noise can die on my lips, hers are pressed against mine.

My eyes fall shut immediately with the kiss, enjoying the feel of her silk-like skin gliding across my own. The short breaths she lets out through her nose are intoxicating and I match them with my own, letting my hand fall along the curve of her back. Her right hand entangles into my hair, pulling on it tightly when I pull on her lip a little with my teeth. Her other hand stays knotted at my chest, right above where my heart thumps wildly inside of my chest.

Already I feel myself growing hard for what must be the fifth time since lunch, but this time the pressure seems greater, knowing that soon it will be relieved. I let out a shaky groan, giving Katniss ammunition as she forces our hips together more forcibly, rotating her hips wildly. She lets out a soft squeak as I work one of my legs in between hers, moving it back and forth in time with our lips, creating a gentle friction.

Her lips break away from my own with a gasp before she trails down a string of kisses that starts from my jawbone to the base of my neck. I gasp as she swipes her tongue against an overly sensitive spot near my earlobe, teasing the thin flesh by taking it between her teeth and nipping at it softly.

"Katniss," I groan, my hands around her back squeezing tighter in pleasure. I run them up and down over her back a couple more times before allowing them to slip over her sides and then to her front, grazing the underwire of her bra with the tips of my fingers.

Her mouth falters and her head sort of tips back as I pinch and rub her nipples through the fabric of her thin t-shirt and bra. I can already see them standing at points and imagine them hard and pointed underneath her clothing.

"I was thinking about you too," Katniss breathes, hardly any pause between her words. Her voice sounds throaty - heavy with arousal - as she rocks further against my leg. "About this."

"Yeah?" I ask stupidly, my brain becoming dizzy with desire for her. I can feel my legs shaking, making standing - even leaning - a harder task than normal.

"Uh huh," Katniss answers boldly, dragging her nails down my chest, making sure to graze my nipple on the way down. Her hand rests at my waistband, scratching the high-nerve laced skin underneath my belly button.

"What were you thinking about, Peeta?" Katniss whispers, toying with my belt buckle. My eyes shift from her questioning eyes, to my hands still groping at her covered boobs, to her hand mere inches away from my twitching dick.

"You," I answer honestly, and with my words, Katniss unsnaps the button of my pants. I sigh in relief at the release of pressure and twist my hips a little, as if the action will cause them to fall to the floor. She undoes the belt buckle, but keeps her hands in either side of it, cocking her hips, as if she were waiting.

"What was I doing?" she asks, pulling the belt free from my pants and allowing it to fall with a _clunk. _While she waits for my answer - my lips opening and closing in surprise - she reaches her hands around the bottom of her shirt and pulls it over the top of her head, allowing it to fall next to the belt.

Her flat belly heaves in and out with jagged breaths and her olive-toned skin looks darker in contrast to the sky blue color of her bra. She twists the strap around her finger, almost teasingly, before allowing the thing to fall down her arm, exposing her bare shoulder to me.

"Uhhh..." I exhale shakily, my hand slowly drifting back to rest on her small hip. "You were... taking that... off."

"Okay," she says, snaking her fingers behind her back to pull the fabric of her bra loose. She shimmies it off of her arms, allowing it to fall into a pile on the ground before looking back up at me with a raised eyebrow. "Then what?"

"Then..." I trail off, my eyes splitting their focus between her exposed skin and amused expression. I watch her own eyes trail down my stomach to rest where my pants are half-open in front of her. When her gazes focuses there, refusing to come up, I let out a soft groan, my hips instinctively pressing themselves forward

in search of much needed friction.

She notices the small sounds and heavy breaths slipping from my throat and smirks suggestively up at me before locking my hands around her wrists and pressing them over my chest, near where my heart is.

"And what are these doing?" she asks, wiggling her fingers and her voice drops an octave lower, seductively.

"Th... those are..." my voice barely comes out in a whisper, and the rest of my words catch in my throat as I watch my hands drag hers down my stomach slowly, until they rest right above the popped button of my jeans. I hesitate for a moment, never having actually _placed_ Katniss's hands here before... but it's obvious this is what she wants, right? And I want it too...

I allow them to dip a little further, covering over the protruding bulge that fits along my left thigh, pulsing slightly.

Her fingers squeeze knowingly and I grunt softly, pressing myself further into her grasp.

She leans in closer, her chest right up against mine and I can feel her hardened nipples under the material of my t-shirt. Her lips place feather-light kisses along my collarbone, sucking on the skin gently every time I let out a breathy gasp.

"But if my hands are here," she murmurs against my skin, rubbing along my erection for emphasis. "Where is my mouth?"

The insinuation is unmistakable. I swallow the saliva pooling in my throat too quickly and end up sending some down the wrong way, having to cough repeatedly to rid myself the tickle which forms in my throat. With watery eyes, I look up to Katniss in shock... but, the expression she wears hints more toward pride than anything else.

She licks her lips teasingly, causing my good leg's knee to buckle and I have to grip the doorknob behind me to steady myself back up against it.

"Your... mouth?" I ask, a shudder running through my body as she continues her attack on my neck. Her hands reach to grip the edges of my shirt, pulling it up over my body and head to rest in a discarded pile off to the side with our other garments.

"Is that okay?" she asks, never breaking eye contact with me as she lowers herself down to her knees directly in front of me. "Because I don't know about you... but most of _my_ thoughts today centered around being down here."

"Ugh," I groan, my head tipping back as she works my pants further down my legs until they pool around my ankles. I feel her one hand running up and down my thigh, scraping the skin lightly in a similar manner that she did at lunch. The other rests on my prosthetic, gripping it expertly - as if she isn't even phased by the fake material.

Her eyes focus on her busy hands and the throbbing flesh in front of her, hidden away by the thin fabric of my boxers, before she glances up holding a questioning look to her eyes.

"I uh... you... you want to do... that?" I manage to stumble out, unable to keep the twinge of excitement and hopefulness from dripping into my tone.

Katniss simply nods in response, dipping the tips of her fingers past the elastic of my waistband and dragging it down past my knees to collect in a heap at my ankles with my jeans.

Fully exposed, my erection bobs a little up and down, swelling further to life with anticipation of her next move. She takes her time, teasing her nails across the thin skin behind my knee cap and slowly dragging it up to the sensitive inside of my thigh. I gasp a little at her gentle touches, my muscles clenching, knowing what's to come shortly.

"You know what _I_ was thinking of all day?" she asks airily, and I can feel her soft breaths on my balls. They tighten instinctively and my eyes snap shut.

"What?" I whisper, swallowing heavily.

Her hand wraps around the base of my dick, squeezing tightly and causing me to let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeak. She starts moving it up and down, her palm running over the head before gliding back down the shaft to where it meets my pubic bone.

"Does that feel nice?" she wonders out loud, her other hand tickling its way up to cup my balls.

"Uh huh," I moan, my hips gyrating in time with her hand.

"Peeta?" she calls out, stilling her movements.

"Yeah?"

"Look at me," she chuckles and it takes all my strength - managing to open my stubborn eyes. Her face is impossibly close to my erection, her hands still gripping it loosely, as she looks up at me with large gray eyes. Her cheeks are flushed pink and she takes her bottom lip into her mouth, biting down on it teasingly.

"Watch," she commands in a hesitant whisper and there is no time to argue before she presses the tip of my member to her swollen lips. My mouth falls open widely and I can see my chest heaving rapidly in and out as her tongue glides along my slit.

"_Ohhh!"_

"Mmm," Katniss moans, parting her lips from me with a slight pop. She runs a palm over the underside of my dick, laying it flush against my stomach before dipping her head and trailing her tongue up and down the thick vein there. My vision grows spotty and I feel myself slipping down the door slowly, a string of moans falling from my lips.

She plants gentle kisses along the skin surrounding my swollen flesh and then up the side of it before she takes the tip back into her mouth. Her tongue dances and swirls around the head teasingly as her tight lips dip down to further encase me.

"Katniss!" I gasp, the feeling different from anything ever before. My head tips back with a grunt and it takes all my concentrative effort not to buck myself further into her. "Ohh... _yes."_

My hands - gripping whatever sort of surface they can find - slowly drift down to wrap themselves in her soft hair. There's several pieces which have fallen loose from her braid and I push them behind her ears, pulling all of it off to one side to give myself a better view of her.

Katniss sticks mostly to licking up and down, stopping to suck only on the small portions she can fit without gagging. Every couple of moments, her lips come off from on top of me and she uses her hand to glide along my skin as she re-covers her teeth with her lips awkwardly. She uses both of her hands in time with her waiting mouth and after a couple strokes it's hard to determine where her mouth stops and hands start... all I feel is _wetness_ and warmth...

"Katniss..." I hiss as her hands tug at my balls again. "I'm not... going to la_-ast_ must longer... _ugh."_

I can feel my orgasm building up inside of me and my hips begin to move more erratically in time with her. She moans in response to my request, and slowly her eyes drift from where they're focused in on her task to look up into my eyes.

That's all it takes. My body stiffens up like a board and with a loud cry my entire body fills with ecstasy as I begin to unload myself into her mouth.

I can feel her cheeks suctioning as she tries swallowing it down, but when my high finally begins to dwindle and I sneak a look down at her, some has fallen onto her chin, dripping lazily down to her chest.

"W-wow," I sigh, falling slowly down to the ground until my butt hits the floor. Katniss scoots back allowing me some space and runs her nails over my thighs, causing me to jump in surprise from the lasting effects of the after-shock.

It takes a few minutes for my breathing to return to normal and my body to quit shuddering but when it does I note the satisfied smirk that Katniss sports as she pulls at the ends of her hair.

"Wow, huh?" she inquires, making my cheeks blush. "Must have been pretty good."

"Incredible," I agree in a murmur, feeling my cheeks heating as I clear my throat. "I um... would you maybe... I want to... do that... but um for you?"

Katniss's eyes widen at my request and I run a hand over the back of my head nervously, unable to meet her eyes. Is that weird? Should I not have asked? I know it's a thing... I may not know _how to do it_ but I've heard enough talk around school and bits and pieces from my brothers to know better than to believe I've made it up.

But maybe she just doesn't want me to do that.

"I'm sorry!" I apologize before she has the chance to respond, and my entire upper body stings with embarrassment. "I-I just thought..."

"Peeta," she cuts me off, standing up onto her feet. "Let's go to my room, okay?"

"O-okay, sure," I say, jumping up as quickly as I can and pulling my boxers and pants up around my hips.

Katniss leads me up to her bedroom and shuts and locks the door behind her, leaning up against it and eyeing me from where I sit across the room on the corner of her bed. She's still not wearing a shirt or bra and when she takes a step in my direction her chest rises and falls lightly, hypnotizing me.

She pauses a few inches in front of me and slowly unclasps the button of her jeans, letting them fall to the ground in a puddle. She wears simple white cotton boy shorts, which cling to her smooth thighs and hug her hips tantalizingly. My eyes trail over her lower half, up her torso and to her eyes which hold uncertainty to them.

"I don't want to make you... uncomfortable," I rush out in a breath, my hands shaking where they sit at my sides. "I just... wanted to..."

"You're not just saying that because you feel like you have to, right?" she asks in the same uneven, rushed manner I had. My eyebrows furrow in confusion and my lips press to a hard line. Why would she ever feel like I thought I _had_ to?

"No!" I speak quickly, shaking my head from left to right to further my point. "I just..."

_Anything_ she allows me to do for her is a treat on my part... she's amazing... and if anyone is doing something out of an unspoken obligation, it certainly wouldn't be me. Katniss waits patiently as I swallow thickly, trying to sort out my thoughts.

"I've been wanting to... for a while," I speak softly. "And when you were doing it to me... all I could think about... was how good it felt-"

She cuts me off with a snicker, matching the smile that curls on my lips.

"And what it would be like... to make you feel good... too."

There's a tense moment where neither of us speak and then Katniss nods her head, taking the three last steps to get to the bed and falling backwards down onto it. She uses her elbows to push her back further, spreading her legs apart and helping me to pull down her underwear.

I stare in awe at her bare body for a moment, taking in the valley of flesh that connects between her thighs and noticing how her muscles seem to clench and unclench in anticipation.

Katniss clears her throat, causing my head to snap up and meet her own, and I note the way her cheeks have darkened and her legs curl into one another instinctively.

"You're making me nervous," she mutters, "Staring like that."

"_You're_ nervous?" I tease, tickling the tips of my fingers along her thighs to help ease them open. "I didn't know... Katniss Everdeen _could get_... nervous."

"Cocky shit," she breathes, her voice hitching as I make my first swipe across her heated flesh. She's already dripping, coating the insides of her upper thighs and the short patch of hair that covers her thinly. I dip a finger past her lips, my own breathing becoming heavy at the feel of her warmth encasing it, and then add another, moving deeper inside.

_This isn't so scary, _I tell myself with false-confidence. _You've done this before._

I lean forward, hearing Katniss groan a little as my lips land by her hip, kissing the bone there and teasing her sensitive skin with my tongue. I trail my tongue inward until it's right above where I know her clit to be and look up to see her chest heaving erratically.

Her one hand is twisted in the sheet below her, the other lands firmly on my own hand, working my fingers in and out of her at a pace she creates.

I keep my eyes on her as my tongue finds her swollen clit and watch in amazement as her head dips backwards. It's an incredible sight. She's so beautiful, with her cheeks rosy from exertion and eyes screwed tightly shut. Her mouth hangs open in the same manner it had earlier, wrapped around my dick and I can't help but moan a little at the memory.

"Oh _shit!_ Peeta!" she gasps, wiggling her hips impossibly closer to my mouth.

I'm not sure exactly how to do this, but she seems to like whatever it is I _am _doing, so I keep swiping my tongue over her clit, the tip of it catching on her hood and causing her entire body to shiver.

The taste is a good kind of strange, unlike anything I've ever tried before but definitely something I could end up getting used to. She's extremely hot and when my teeth graze her I can feel her muscles tightening around my fingers instinctively.

"Yes!" she sighs, "That feels so good, Peeta."

The hand which had previously been helping me build up a pace snakes up to grip my free hand, entwining our fingers and squeezing them seemingly as tight as she can. I rub my thumb over her, squeezing back as I dip my head further, licking up and down her entrance, paying close attention to the nerves toward the top.

I reach up to grab hold of her available breasts, pinching and pulling at the nipple of one, causing her to let out a long string of unending moans.

"_Ahhhh yes!"_

Her own hand works the other, swirling around and squeezing herself tightly, lost in heated pleasure. The sight and her sounds and the feel of her clenching around me is enough for my wilted erection to grow again, pressed tightly up against the thigh of my jeans. I grind against her leg a little, willing my eyes to stay open and watch as she warns me that her peak will be hitting soon.

I simply nod, encouraging her to let go and a moment later, with a stifled groan she shakes through her own orgasm.

"Peeta!" she cries out, writhing from left to right. "Oh, Peeta!"

I look up at her, pulling my fingers loose from her tightness and lick her remaining juices from my fingers. She watches with a strange mix of awe and enjoyment and instinctively licks her own lips a moment later.

"'_Wow'_ doesn't even begin to describe it," she mumbles in-between erratic breaths. "Why is it that we waited this long to discover this?"

I shoot her a playful shrug with a snicker, scooting myself further up to where she lays limply and running a hand through knotted hair as she rests her head on my chest.

"Your hair is a mess," I chuckle, untangling it slowly so as not to hurt her.

"Mmm, feels good," she breathes of my hand in her hair and snuggles closer into me, wrapping a leg over the top of mine. She's quiet for so long I thought she'd fallen asleep and my own eyes start to droop from exertion when she breathes deeply and turns up to look at me.

"You don't mind that I said we'd go to the party tonight, right?"

"No, of course not," I answer, truthfully. "It's just... I've never been to one... before."

"I know," she smiles slightly. "But, I think this is the perfect one to lose your party-virginity to. Finnick's are always great."

I laugh at her terminology, trying not to dwell on _how many_ parties she's been too in the past, or what might have happened at them.

"You won't get in trouble for going, right?" she asks, her voice a little gentler. "I'll have you home by eleven, that's no later than you'd be here anyway."

"It's fine," I promise her, and hopefully it is. When I'd called the bakery earlier, Rye answered and put me on the phone with Dad who said he didn't see the harm in me staying out. I didn't mention it was a party I was going to, just that I'd be with Katniss, and I felt bad lying but I didn't want him to tell me no.

"You'll have a good time," she speaks again, as if to really encourage me. And I'm sure she's right. After all, she'll be there, as will all my other friends. How bad could it be?

I swallow thickly, watching her mouth break out into a yawn as she pushes herself in closer to me.

No, it won't be so bad. It's just a party.

* * *

"Now remember, it's just a party," Katniss says as we walk up the driveway. Although you can hear the faint thumping of the music inside, out here the crickets can be heard making their own music. "It's supposed to be fun."

"Yeah," I nod, though I'm not sure if I'm reassuring myself or Katniss. "No big deal."

"Right," she grins, placing a hand on the doorknob. "By the time we leave, you'll be wondering why you were nervous at all in the first place."

The door swings open and the music from inside floods my ear drums, thumping so loudly I can hear it's bass under my feet.

Everywhere I look, there are people. Some are dancing, others attempting to talk over the deafening music. I catch a couple kids in the corner gathered around a fold out table making bets off a game of cards, and others refilling their cups with more drinks.

I'm not sure what I expected a high school party to be like, but I don't think it was anything like this in my mind. I guess thats because I still hold onto the memory of my first-grade classmate's birthday party... where pin the tail on the donkey was the highlight of the evening.

It's as if all my senses have been attacked and are in overload. Instinctively, I reach out for Katniss's hand and grip it tightly in my sweating one. She squeezes my palm back, leading me through the sea of people who flood the entrance way, their gazes scoping our forms before turning back to whatever it is they were doing.

I see Katniss wave and smile at some people we pass and try doing the same, but my hand never ventures further than my hip and the smile I wear feels more like a grimace.

Katniss knows Finnick's house like the back of her hand and leads me through it effortlessly, taking corners quickly and dodging people who get into our way. Her eyes scan the area of each room, as if she's searching for someone, before she's pulled up short by the sound of her name, followed quickly by mine.

"Peeta! Katniss!" the voice calls out again and when I turn around I come face-to-face with a broad chest. The person backs up a little, wearing an easy smile and waves excitedly toward us.

"Sorry!" he apologizes, "I didn't know if you could hear me."

"Gale!"

"Catnip!"

Katniss squeals, letting go of my hand to jump into his embrace. He laughs when she does this, saying something I don't make out and hangs onto her tighter for a long moment. When she breaks free he turns to me, encasing me in our own hug.

"How's it going, buddy? I was hoping I'd see you around here tonight."

"Couldn't let him miss a party," Katniss snickers, trailing her hand over my shoulder lightly.

"Course not," Gale agrees. "I just didn't know if he'd dumped your ass already. She's high maintenance, isn't she?"

I laugh when she smacks his chest playfully before wrapping an arm around my back. I do the same, resting my hand on her hip and pulling her in closer, like I might lose her or something.

"It's gonna be hard for him to get rid of me now," she breathes, so quietly I'm positive Gale doesn't hear. He smiles anyway, nodding his head and sticking the hand which isn't holding his cup into his pocket.

"Madge here?" Katniss asks a little louder and Gale nods his head, pointing across the room to where she stands with Delly and Johanna.

"Awesome," she smiles and when she starts to pull away, I instinctively tighten my grip around her. She turns toward me with confused eyes and I feel my cheeks heating under her gaze.

I hadn't hoped to be a leech tonight and I definitely didn't want Katniss to feel like she had to babysit me... especially when her friends from out of town were here visiting. But the thought of leaving her side, having to walk around by myself even if it was Finnick's house frightened me.

_Maybe I should say hello to Madge too._

As if sensing my hesitation, Katniss smiles and drags her hand along my back slowly before letting go and turning to Gale.

"You wanna play a round of pool with Peeta?" she asks, pointing to the next room over. "That is... unless you're afraid he might beat your ass again."

"Psh, no, pool is my fucking game," Gale brags teasingly before wrapping an arm around me, patting my shoulder roughly. "Come on dude, pool table is set up over here."

"_Have fun,"_ Katniss stresses before sending me a quick wave and heading in the direction of her other friends. I swallow deeply, nodding even though she's no longer facing me and slowly my feet lead me in the direction Gale is headed.

"If you have... people you wanted to see..." I start to say, running a hand over the back of my head, but before I can finish Gale is brushing me off like it's not a huge deal at all.

"Dude, to be honest, the only people I give a fuck about from around here is you guys."

I watch him chalk up the end of his pool stick with confusion... because he just said _you guys_ which would suggest I was included in that "group." I mean, Gale and I hung out a couple times together over the summer but that was always in the company of Katniss and I never really thought he considered me a friend.

"What're we playing?"

Finnick comes from seemingly out of nowhere and hops up on top of the pool table, grabbing his own cue and the chalk from Gale's hand.

"You in?" Gale asks.

"Yup, Annie's entertaining herself with _the ladies_ so I'm off the boyfriend duty hook, Peeta knows all about that don't you man?" he asks, nudging my shoulder teasingly.

"Nah, they're still in the honeymoon phase," Gale snickers. "He actually _enjoys_ being around his girlfriend."

"Damn, I remember those days," Finnick says, shaking his head and looking up into the distance. "Well, enjoy them while they last!"

They both turn to me and burst out in laughter at what must be my expression before Finnick comes up behind me and shakes my shoulders.

"I'm just kidding dude," he assures me. "And if Annie asks, all I say are sweet things about her."

"The sweetest," I smile and he grins, pointing a finger in my direction.

"Atta boy! All right, who's going first?"

Gale and Finnick both exude a level of confidence that I find both intimidating and admirable. Growing up, I was always inexplicably jealous of people like them... the kind that could engage anyone in conversation and make them feel like they've known each other for years rather than just a day or so. The kind that made everyone laugh and smile... the kind _everyone_ wanted to be around.

Sometimes at night before bed, I'd stay up and think to myself that it can't be _that_ hard. _I_ could talk to people! _I_ could make people laugh! It's simple...

But by morning the confidence had always worn off and I'd trail into school silently with my hands inside of my pockets.

"How's Rye doing?" Gale asks after we've all taken a couple shots. For a second, his question takes me aback before I remember that they used to be on some of the same sports teams in school.

"Bitter still," I answer honestly, causing both Gale and Finnick to snicker.

"Oh yeah, the bakery... I forgot about that shit."

"Yeah..." I say slowly, taking my next shot.

"I'm going to have to pay that punk a visit before leaving."

"Man, if my family owned a business, _hell no_ I would not be in any lame-ass school," Finnick chimes. "I mean what's the point? I wouldn't even stay in high school."

"Thank God your family doesn't own a business then," Gale snickers and Finnick sort of smirks before leaning up against the table, his eyes trailed off behind me. The smile on his face falters slightly and his eyes harden before he switches the pool stick between hands.

"Man, Cato has some damn nerve."

My body stiffens at the sound of his name and instinctively my grip on the side of the table tightens. He's here? Why is he here? I shouldn't be so surprised though, of course he is... _everyone is._

But that's kind of why I didn't expect to run into him.

Gale's eyes meet where Finnick's are staring and he clenches his jaw tightly.

"Dude better learn to back off."

I turn just in time to see Cato slip an arm around Katniss's shoulders and it feels like my stomach has been launched into my throat. My hand tightens its grip once more, holding on so tight that it's completely drained of color - ghostly white.

I search the area for Johanna or Madge or any of them, but either the crowd has grown or they've disappeared because they are nowhere in sight. Katniss pulls in the opposite direction of Cato as he leans in closer, wearing an easy smirk as he glides his fingers over shoulder.

I can feel my body shaking with adrenaline and... anger? I think I'm actually _pissed_ at how closely he's standing to her, with his thigh bumping her own.

"I'm about to beat his fucking ass," I hear Gale mumble from behind me and Finnick might have said something in response but I'm so closely focused on the scene ahead of me that I've tuned them out.

Katniss jerks away from Cato quickly, causing some of his drink to spill down the front of her shirt and I watch with rage as his eyes trail down to the wet spot over her chest, his hands still reaching out for her.

I'm walking before I realize it, pushing through curious looking people and gnashing my teeth in frustration, my nose flaring.

He _cannot_ touch her like that. Not if she doesn't want it.

He needs to never put a fucking finger on her _again. Ever._

Katniss's eyes train on me and as she sees me approaching she instinctively takes a step in my direction, her hand searching for my own. She smells strongly of beer, though not on her breath - just all over her clothing. Cato stands up straighter when I take a step toward him, wearing a cocky expression and folded arms.

"What's up, Mellark? Mommy let you out of the house?"

By now there's a miniature semi-circle forming around us, and the air seems tense.

"You need... to get... away from her," I say as sternly as possible, swallowing heavily. "Keep your hands... _off_ of... her."

Cato laughs at my request, throwing a look over his shoulders to his buddies before turning back to me with mock fright.

"What're you going to _d-d-d-do_ about it, Mellark?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. "Huh?"

He takes a daring step forward, his eyes never leaving my own and reaches off to the side where Katniss stands, smacking her butt possessively.

My hand unlocks with Katniss's, forming a fist and flying forward.

Then, Cato is on the ground.

* * *

Thanks for all the support guys, it's much appreciated. Just a note: some people have been wondering if there would be any type of one-shot/chapters from Katniss's POV of Eggshells and the answer is yes! I don't have an exact date of "when" it'll be posted, but I plan to do a multi-chapter fic of scenes/chapters of Eggshells from Katniss's POV. It'll be called "Broken Glass" more info coming!

For even more information, find me on tumblr: finnickshardtrident.


	19. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins.**

A big thanks to my beta fnur for all her help with this chapter.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

I'm almost relieved when my alarm clock sounds on Monday morning, because it means the sleepless night from hell was finally over.

But that also meant I had to actually _get up_ and go to school.

My stomach twists and coils at the thought, so tightly that I really think I might puke. I sit up too quickly, all the blood rushing from my head, and sigh, running a hand through my hair and over my eyes slowly.

_Maybe just this once I could call in sick._ It wouldn't be much of a stretch to think either, the way I feel right now. But there are only two instances I can think of after the accident that have merited a "stay home" pass from Mother - the first being the accident itself, when I was recovering and was hardly able to get out of the bed, let alone get to class. And the other was in the ninth grade, when I had a fever so high that I had actually been hallucinating throughout the night, unknowingly.

Other than that, Mother has told me to_ suck it up! Be a man! _And get my ass to school...

Today would be no exception.

_Plus, _I think as I scrub my teeth, spitting into the sink below me before using some of the running water to wash off my tired face. _The only thing worse than going would be not going. It would ruin everything. Prove that Saturday was a fluke or whatever. _

...But I mean, it was... wasn't it?

I'd been just as shocked to see Cato on the floor as my classmates had been to see me standing over him with a balled fist. It seemed as though it couldn't possibly have been me as I watched the blood flow heavily through his fingers clenched around his nose. But the way everyone was staring at me - wide eyed and mouths agape - spoke loudly throughout the silent room.

After that, my memory gets a little spotty. I remember Finnick weaving his way through the crowd, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and leading me calmly into the other room that Gale him and I had been playing pool in. Gale placed a protective arm over Katniss too.

I remember hearing some shouting too, as Cato's buddies nearly dragged him toward the door after Finnick insisted they leave. He was shouting _at me..._ a threat, I think... but the words are all jumbled in my mind.

It didn't take too much longer for the adrenaline to wear off and realization of what I had done to really begin flooding in. And I felt like I was going to be sick.

For as long as I can remember, violence has had a rattling affect on me. This one time, when Bannock and Rye and I were all younger, we were outside playing in the puddles after a huge rainstorm and Rye and Bannock started cutting the worms in half on the street - claiming their bodies would just re-grow. I _hated_ it and tried begging them to stop, picking up as many worms as I could in my arms to save them from my brothers...

And then of course, growing up with Mother.

I really don't know what's happening to me anymore. It's like a downward spiral that's too steep to stop. I never used to be like this and although I hated myself back then just as much, it was an entirely different kind of hate than I'm beginning to experience now. At least back then I could handle it.

Katniss ended up driving me home Friday night shortly after Cato and his friends dispersed. Even though Finnick's house and my house are on clear opposite ends of the town, I'd have much rather walked because having her leave for me only made me feel worse.

Once inside, Katniss turned on the radio, found my hand in her own and then threw the car into drive. It was as if she had read my mind and I couldn't thank her enough for not bringing up the situation I was still trying to digest myself. Anyone else would have, if for no other reason than to fill the awkward silence, but Katniss knew.

_Of course she knew._

Before I left, she had promised to call the next day... which she did. But, I didn't answer. The night only proved to deepen my feelings of self-resentment and loathing, and by Saturday morning it was all I could do to even peel myself away from bed.

Anytime my mind went back to that night, my stomach would lurch uncomfortably... so, I really didn't want to think about it. And I especially didn't want to talk about it. And even if she didn't bring it up, just hearing her voice - just hearing Rye say her _name_ - was enough to throw me into a tailspin.

I just needed to live back in my bubble of invisibility for a weekend. Just _one. _Even if that bubble involved Mother and bakery duty all day long.

I finally worked up the courage to give Katniss a call last night, as I was pacing back and forth through the bakery, shaky and panting at the prospect of what tomorrow might bring. I just needed someone to talk with. She didn't seem to mind too much that I'd waited so long to return her calls and calmed me down significantly before promising to see me in the morning before classes.

I watch as she makes good on this promise, pulling into the driveway slowly with her lights shining in through the bakery's window, the sun not fully risen yet. Rye lifts his eyes a little as he continues to knead dough, casting me a wayward look before shrugging one shoulder.

"See ya," he finally says as I lift my book bag over my arm. "Good luck."

"...Thanks," I grumble, already halfway out the door before I shut it behind me.

Through the windshield, I can see Katniss smiling as I approach her car and she gives me a trying wave as I settle down in the seat next to her.

"Hi," I say in answer, clearing my throat when my voice comes out cracked.

She leans over, straining her belt buckle and captures my lips against her own.

"It'll be ok."

"Probably not," I admit, because there's no sense lying to ourselves. "But thanks."

She frowns heavily before putting the car in reverse, backing slowly down my drive in silence. We're quiet for the majority of the ride, my stomach too knotted and jumbled to form small talk, but Katniss keeps a hand rested on my knee and gives me reassuring pats and squeezes every so often.

When she pulls in her parking space, we sit unmoving for a couple of minutes.

"We have to go in," she finally murmurs and I nod my head, my scratchy throat too dry to speak.

"Think of it this way," she says, her tone lighter. "It's not like he'll try anything here. Well not unless he wants to get himself into more trouble."

I frown deeper and Katniss runs a hand through her hair, an awkward chuckle escaping her lips.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

More silence.

"Well, think of it _this _way," she tries again. "The sooner we go in, the sooner it'll be over with and then we can go hide away at my place for the rest of the day."

I return the easy smile she casts me, which seems to please her before placing a hand over the top of her own and nodding in agreement.

"All right," I finally breathe. "Let's go."

* * *

Cato isn't in school.

"Pussy," Johanna snorts after the bell in science rings and Cato's seat is empty. "I heard he was a no-show today, but I was giving him the benefit of the doubt until I saw for myself. And lo and behold..."

She turns to me and I try to smile, but really I just feel sick.

All morning all I've heard throughout the hallways is talk of this past weekend and the "big fight" that broke out between Cato and I.

"_Wait... Peeta _Mellark? _You're fucking with me."_

"_No, I swear! I saw with my own eyes. They were so drunk and totally egging each other on."_

"_Then what happened?"_

As usual, when things are told through the grapevine, the story becomes embellished rather quickly. Turning from a quick and thoughtless punch in the nose, to me tackling him and repeatedly beating him. Someone even started the rumor that he was knocked out cold. Another said he had a knife on him and my attack was in self-defense.

_Every _story claimed we were both drunk.

"_Well, how else would Mellark get that kind of courage?" _

"Hey," Johanna says, nudging my elbow with hers. I turn to look at her, dazed, and return the sympathetic smile she casts me. "What did we tell you about beating yourself up over this?"

I frown pointedly and Johanna snorts.

"Sorry, sorry, poor choice of words. But really, don't be too hard on yourself. _Everyone_ gets into a fight in high school at least _once."_

I shrug.

"It's only 'big news' because it's _you _and you're all sweet and innocent and-"

"-A loser."

"I was going to say quiet," she scoffs. "I don't hang out with 'losers.'"

I snicker.

"Plus, that's not what I've heard," she sings, tilting her head in my direction.

"Well, you can't... trust what you hear," I whisper. "I've overheard _ten_ variations... of the story already... today."

"People might have different takes on what happened," she gives with a nod. "But, do you know the one thing everyone agrees on?"

I lift an eyebrow expectantly.

"He deserved it."

* * *

Throughout my next couple of classes, Johanna's words stick to the forefront of my mind. They ring throughout my head periodically, making it hard to concentrate on anything else going on around me.

_He deserved it. _

When I close my eyes, Johanna's voice becomes twisted and contorted into that of my Mother's as she stands over me with her lips curled back in a growl, rolling pin raised. _He deserved it, Galen! The boy deserved it!_

I inhale deeply.

_It's the one thing everyone agrees on, Peeta._

Everyone but me.

I don't think anyone quite deserves _that. _

The bell rings suddenly, knocking me out of my trance and causing me to jump a little in my seat. Around me, students stand up quickly, the noise of zippers and papers and chairs scraping against the floor sounding louder than our teacher announcing the homework up front. I copy it quickly off the blackboard and shove the piece of crumpled paper into my pocket.

"Hey, Peeta."

With the sound of my name, I turn and come face to face with Glimmer who pops her gum and waves her fingers at me. She stands up more fully, tucking her notebooks and binders off to the side of her cocked hip and smiles in an almost sincere manner.

I try giving her a smile back, but the way my skin twitches on my face has me feeling like it comes across as more of a grimace. My palms feel sweaty as they cling to my books and I shift in my spot self-consciously.

I can count on one hand how many times Glimmer has talked to me in all our years of growing up in school together. The time that sticks out the most was when we were in sixth grade and she stood in front of me in line down the hallway. I accidentally stepped on the backs of her new shoes and she turned around and shoved me as hard as she could.

She probably doesn't remember that though.

"Um... hi, Glimmer," I force and her smile broadens.

"How's it going?"

_This is so wrong... _I think to myself, eyeing her skeptically as she takes a step closer to me. My mind immediately starts thinking of ways that this could potentially be sabotage and it makes my mouth run dry.

"Pretty good," I say slowly, so as not to let on how freaked out I am.

She laughs, startlingly loud and presses a hand against my bare forearm. I flinch at the contact on instinct, but if she notices she doesn't say anything, just continues laughing. Her whole head tips back with her cackles and her eyelids close tightly as she tosses her thick blonde hair over one shoulder.

Even though it's the middle of October, she wears a spaghetti strap tank top with a plunging neck line. With her shoulder closest to me exposed, I can clearly see her bra-strap - hot pink opposed to the navy blue of her "shirt" - and can hardly imagine Katniss ever wearing something similar. Even in the hotter weather.

"I bet you _are_ doing pretty good, after this past weekend and everything," she comments. My face grows cold as it loses color and I try swallowing deeply, but it gets stuck in my scratchy throat.

Of course I realize most everyone is talking about the fight that happened last weekend, but she's the first to actually confront me about it.

"Glimmer," I start, taking a deep breath to keep from stuttering. "I... don't want any trouble... or anything. I didn't mean what happened-"

"Trouble?" she asks, perplexed. "Why would I give you _trouble?"_

"Uhm..."

It's true, her and Cato aren't dating anymore... but I would think given the history... or some unspoken rule that Glimmer would be as pissed about the punch as Cato had been. Or probably still is.

My belly lurches.

"You're kind of like, my hero, Mellark," she says with a shrug, tucking a curl behind her ear.

"Hero?" I ask, chuckling humorlessly as I approach my locker. She leans up against the one next to me... in the spot Katniss normally stands... and twists the same lock of hair as before with rosy cheeks.

"Yeah, I mean... Cato is a jerk and you put him in his place."

"It wasn't right, Glimmer," I say sternly, making it clear that what I did would _not_ become a habit. That it wasn't something I believed in.

"Um, of course it was," she says, rolling her eyes with a pointed look at me. "I mean think about how he treated you all these years. It's... _revolutionary."_

I frown in her direction, looking past her wide eyes to search for Katniss in the crowded hallway. She usually meets up with me this time of day and should be here any minute. _Thankfully._

"Who knew all that was inside of _little Peeta,_" Glimmer says, helping to shut the door to my locker once I've fished out my last book. Her fingers skim across my own and her face brightens. "It was pretty _hot."_

My mouth opens, stunned, but the words that follow don't come from it, but from Katniss.

"Glimmer," she says and when I turn to face her, relief flooding my body, hers only seems to tighten. "Weird seeing you... here."

"It's a free hallway, Katniss," Glimmer bites back, standing up straighter. "Not like you own it."

Katniss's jaw clenches in a way unlike I've seen before and in one fluid movement her arm snakes around my own, pulling me into her closer. It's a rougher movement than usual, one that throws me off balance for a short moment. I search for her hand to link with my own, but when our fingers brush, she only pulls away.

"I'll catch up with you later, Peeta," Glimmer says, looking pointedly at Katniss.

"Um... okay," I respond, casting her a wave as she stalks past us.

I twist my lock, just to make sure it's closed fully before turning back to Katniss, shocked to see anger still very present in her expression. Her eyebrows point down deeply, wrinkling the skin around her nose and her gray eyes seem almost black as her ghostly white knuckles wrap harder around her books.

"What?" I ask in confusion, digging my hands deep into my pockets.

"Nothing," she shrugs, down casting her gaze unconvincingly. I narrow my eyes, elbowing her side a couple of times until she glances up at me from underneath her eyelashes.

"Are you okay?"

A tight and twisting pain wells up inside of me at the idea of her being upset with me. I swallow heavily as she looks me over with hard eyes that soften after a minute. She forces a tight smile to her face before pulling her book bag up higher on her shoulder.

"I'm fine."

* * *

I don't see Katniss again for the rest of the day after the run-in with Glimmer. It's normal... I don't see her after that period usually anyway, but it just felt strange, having left things the way we did last.

She just seemed so _upset. _Not to say I hadn't seen her angry before, but it just felt so different this time. I'd never questioned whether _I'd_ been the one to upset her or not before.

Finnick notices the change in my mood since lunch and questions me about it as he changes back into his regular clothes from gym. I tell him all about the encounter with Glimmer, but when I ask him about Katniss, he seems unfazed by her shortness, brushing it off on _PMS_ or lack of sleep or simply because she has a _vagina_ and_ hormones. _

"Or," he continues, slyly. "Maybe she's a little jealous."

"Jealous?" I repeat in question, my face scrunching up as I test out the word. "What would she be jealous about?"

Finnick snickers, shaking his head before placing a hand on my shoulder roughly.

"Peeta," he begins with raised eyebrows. "I know you're oblivious, but come on, dude. You punched Cato in the fucking face this past weekend. Don't act like you haven't noticed the way everyone has been staring at you and talking about you... especially the ladies."

The bell rings with his last words and eager students push past us to get to their cars and buses as quick as possible. I turn to Finnick puzzled, pulling my book bag up higher on my arm and cocking my head to the right.

"That can't be right."

"It is," he insists, slowing his pace as he gets closer to his locker.

"But, Katniss has to know that I'm only interested in her," I feel my cheeks darkening with my words, because honestly the idea of _Katniss_ liking me was preposterous, but her being threatened by _other girls liking me? _Yeah, right.

Finnick shrugs his shoulders, throwing a couple binders into his messily arranged locker before slamming the door shut.

"_Does she?"_

I sigh, dejectedly.

"Take it as a compliment."

"A compliment?" I snort and he snickers amusedly.

"You _do know_ Kat, right? She's over the top protective when it comes to the things she loves. Well, she loves you, so I'm not at all surprised she's a wee bit jealous of all these random bitches hitting on you."

"No one hit on me."

"Okay," Finnick says, keeping his tone casual, but the slight eye roll I note makes his words seem more sarcastic. "I have to head out man, but good luck with the whole Katniss thing. Let me know how things go tomorrow."

"Yeah... sure. See you later."

"Later!" Finnick throws one last wave over his shoulder before disappearing into the sea of students which lunge for the doors.

I wait by the main office for Katniss, as always. As more students flood the main exit, the hallway becomes less claustrophobic and bodies more sporadic.

"Hey, Peeta," a gentle voice speaks from behind me, causing me to jump in surprise. Two girls giggle shyly, casting casual waves of their fingertips in my direction, the one whose voice rang out winking when I turn to them in confusion.

I'm not sure I even know who they _are._

"Uhm..." I begin, floundering before my gaze rests on Katniss's from down the hall. I glance back to the spot the two girls had been standing, but they've already disappeared. When I look back to Katniss, her arms are crossed over her body tightly, her jaw clenched and eyes glancing over the doors leading the buses venomously.

"Hi," I greet quickly, wincing at the eagerness to my tone, hinting at being almost guilty. If she notices my discomfort, she doesn't voice concern, just murmurs a quiet hello of her own paired with a cautious smile that deepens as her eyes flit up from the empty doorway to me.

I extend my arms hopefully, breathing out a quiet sigh of relief when she falls into them, holding herself there a moment longer than I'd expect before stepping back with a quiet throat-clear and entwining my hand with her own.

"Ready to get out of here?" she asks in a guarded voice, her eyebrows lifting artificially.

"...Sure..."

Prim doesn't ride home with us today. When I ask about her, Katniss tells me she won't be home until later on tonight, that she went to the Hawthorne's to work on some big history project with Rory. Something about her tone leads me to raise a questioning brow at her and Katniss's lips lift just slightly before she shrugs.

"I just find it funny," she chimes. "That her and _Rory_ were partnered together."

After that, we're pretty quiet for the rest of the way home. Katniss nods as I tell her about something we read in History and I force laughter when she re-tells a joke she'd heard earlier, her voice lacking any sort of emotion. She smiles a little when I laugh, but refuses to meet my eyes... even when the lights turned red.

Internally, I debate whether spending the afternoon at her house is a good idea or not, but when we pull into her driveway I figure if she really wanted me gone, she'd have dropped me off at home, or hinted at it, or something.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, bent over with her head inside of the fridge. I slip off my shoes, piling them neatly on the rug in front of the front door before turning toward her, running a hand through my hair.

"Uhm... no, I'm okay."

"Kay," she says, standing up with a small thing of wrapped cheese in her palm. Her eyes meet mine and she smiles a little before turning back to the counter and pulling a knife out from one of the drawers, chopping the cheese into smaller slices.

She sticks one in her mouth, cupping the rest in her hand before nodding toward the stairs leading to her bedroom. She falls down into her old computer chair, not bothering to flip on her bedroom light, and spins around in it once.

I sit down on the edge of her nicely-made bed, knotting my fingers with one another and looking around at the room I already have memorized. It hasn't changed at all since the first time I saw it, several months ago on Prom night, but the continuity is nice. I like that about it.

"So," she starts, her eyes down-casted at the small pile of cheese in her palm. "Glimmer too, huh?"

I cast her a lopsided smile, unsure of what to say exactly. She waits, her leg bouncing up and down almost nervously.

"That must have looked... weird," I finally admit, turning my body so that I'm facing her more. "But just so you know... I didn't... it's not like I initiated anythin-"

"I know," she finishes quietly.

"Okay, um... well that's good, because I was nervous you thought that maybe I-I..."

"Liked it?" she asks, for the first time turning to look up at me. One of her eyebrows is raised in question and her eyes are glossed over, making them appear glass-like.

"Yeah."

She nods a little, clamping down on her bottom lip and pushing a piece of stray hair behind her ear out of habit.

"You know, I can't say I was completely... surprised."

I watch carefully as she pushes her last piece of cheese past her lips, chewing it slowly before swallowing and folding her hands into each other.

"I always sort of expected it. It was only a matter of time."

"Expected what, Katniss?" I ask, confused.

"For them to realize how _great_ you are. You know, I was sort of dreading going back to school for that reason."

"Well, I don't know if I'd use 'great'..." I murmur.

"I would," she breathes, forcing a five-second smile to her lips. "But it doesn't mean I like it."

I frown.

"No, I mean _I like it," _she reiterates, waving a hand up in protest. "I like that you have friends, and people want to be your friend and that you're finally getting the attention you deserve... I just wish... maybe you weren't getting so much attention from _certain people."_

Her last words come out in a bite and she sort of shakes her head, as if to clear it before rising steadily to her feet. I watch as she takes slow steps in my direction, shrugging her shoulders as she does so.

"Jealousy is such a vulnerable emotion," she scoffs. "I don't like feeling it."

"I... I don't want you to... feel... that... way..." my words trail off as her fingers tease the edge of her shirt and slowly lift it up past her stomach and chest and over her head. It dangles in her hand for a second before falling swiftly to the ground, hitting the wood lightly.

My eyes trail over her exposed skin before turning back to her eyes in surprise, mouth still slightly agape. Her tight stomach contracts under my gaze and I feel a stirring in the pit of my own as my eyes meet hers hungrily.

She stops directly in front of me, placing a hand on either side of my shoulder before hitching her legs around my middle, coming to rest over the top of me in a straddling position. As she pushes herself further into me, she begins to grind gently up against my growing erection, smirking at the reaction she's caused and clinging to me harder.

"I'm a little... possessive," she admits against my ear before her tongue swipes over the shell of it.

"I... don't mind," I gasp, my hands coming to rest over her rocking hips. "I don't want... anyone... but you."

"Good news," she breathes raggedly, allowing no time for a response before her lips travel down my jaw to connect with my own, her tongue carefully dancing out to entwine itself with mine.

"I don't like them looking at you like that," she says when our mouths part and my hands begin to roam themselves over her bare stomach, coming to rest on the clasp of her bra. She growls lightly as I unhook it and her cheeks and neck grow hotter as I take in her skin.

She pulls the bra off her shoulders and I lift my own shirt up over my head, tossing it into the pile of discarded clothing that continues to grow in the center of her bedroom.

"You're mine, you know," she continues, her breath hitching as I pinch and pull at her erect nipples. She covers her small hands over the top of my own, forcing me to tighten my grip and lets out a long string of moans. "And... and I am yours."

I swallow heavily with her words, watching her lidded eyes fall completely shut and eager hips push into my own with more enthusiasm.

"You're mine," I repeat quietly and she mewls a little in response.

"Jeans," she gasps, her fingers snaking down between our bodies to toy with the clasp of my own. She lifts herself up off of me and pulls her own jeans down her body in time with mine before crashing back down on top of me, not even allowing me time to fully kick them off my feet completely.

She pushes me back against the wall, harder than I think she intends because her expression softens a little when I wince at the contact.

"Sorry," she apologizes, her lips already trailing down my neck. "I just... want you..."

"God, I want you too," I groan, a sheer bead of sweat falling down my forehead as she positions my pulsing cock at her entrance, moving my head in teasing circles against her clit.

She smiles at my words a little, a stray piece of her hair falling down over her dark eyes.

"You have me," she whispers with a cunning smirk before plunging down over the top of me. My head spins as I'm immediately encased by her heat and instinctively, my hands ball in the sheets below me. She grips my shoulders like before, using them as leverage to bounce herself up and down on my lap. The rough movements cause my back to thump against the wall rhythmically.

My lidded eyes watch her breasts as they bounce up and down in front of me, her hard nipples grazing my own with each movement, eliciting hisses from the both of us.

"_Oh shit!_ Peeta," Katniss groans out, her body convulsing slightly as I reach between our bodies to rub her clit. My fingertips slip over her wet skin, flicking at the hood and right below where I know her to be the most sensitive, all the while watching as her eyes roll to the back of her head and the string of unwilling moans fall from her lips.

"Feel... good?" I manage to spit out, working harder against her as she tightens around me instinctively.

"Keep going," she begs, burying her head into the crook of my neck, nipping and sucking at the skin there. I obey, keeping a steady tempo along with our hips, my free hand reaching behind her to run itself up and down her back, finally resting over her butt.

My head falls against the wall I'd forgotten was right behind me with a loud thud and almost immediately she snakes a hand around my neck and up through my hair, running her nails over the spot lightly.

"Katniss," I moan, forcing my eyes to reopen themselves so that I can stare into her own. "You're all that I want..."

Her eyes widen a little, like she hadn't been expecting that to come from my mouth but almost immediately after her lips curl up into a smirk and her eyebrows lift.

"Always," I finish with a grunt and her hand entangled in my hair tightens.

"Alw-" she starts to say but the word breaks as her body begins to twitch above mine, wiggling and squirming before she goes completely rigid, crying out loudly as her orgasm washes over her. Her hand finds my own and she clasps her fingers through my own, squeezing tightly as her entire face screws up in pleasure and her chest heaves greatly.

I feel my balls tighten and the pit of my stomach knot as I take her in, and soon after I fall to pieces below her. Her eyes are trained on me when I manage to open my own and she casts me a lazy but satisfied smile. I think I do the same, but my whole body feels numb, so there's no way to know for sure.

I droop further against the wall, slowly lowering myself down until my back is flat against the mattress with Katniss on top of me.

"You don't realize," she tries, her breath still coming out in erratic pants as her chest heaves up and down against mine. Her hands are still locked tightly around my neck, fingernails scraping at the bottom of my hair, causing acute aftershocks to pulse through me spontaneously.

"The effect you can have on people," she finishes with a swallow, planting a kiss along the crook of my neck. "It'd almost be..._ amusing_ how clueless you are to them if it didn't make you all the more... attractive... to them."

"That makes... no sense to me," I say, tracing circles with my shaking fingers over her exposed tailbone. "I spent all these years doing something good... and then I do something bad... and they like me for it?"

Katniss snickers.

"That just makes me another Cato," I continue, any former trace of teasing lost in my tone.

"You are the furthest thing from a Cato," she snorts, rolling off from on top of me and stretching her body out. "Believe me."

I extend an arm out and she leans herself up into me, resting her head on my chest and flinging an arm over to the other side of me with a content sigh.

"These girls are not the brightest, as you may have already noticed," Katniss says, giving me a pointed look. "It's taken them thirteen years to figure out how amazing you are. Only took me _twelve."_

I snort out a laugh and feel her own chest vibrating against mine as she joins in, pulling me tighter against her.

"Because of you," I add as we die down.

"No, because of _you."_

"No," I protest, shaking my head. "I was invisible before you. But, you gave me something I could never acquire on my own."

"What's that?"

"...Desire," I finally shrug.

Her head turns up and she casts me a lazy smile, trailing patterns around my left nipple with her draped hand.

"You're pretty desirable, Peeta."

"Only because-" I break off shakily under her ministrations. "You, Katniss Everdeen, want me."

"That's stupid," she scoffs.

"But true."

"Girls are stupid," she continues. "I mean to me, it was very... apparent... how special you were. _Are._ I knew that, long before we started talking. I just was too... wrapped up in my own life to say something about it... You're different, Peeta."

"That makes you the special one," I mumble, playing with the end of her braid, suddenly self-conscious. "Not me."

She's silent, but I can feel her heart beating erratically in her chest against mine.

"You were the different one," I continue. "But, that's why I could never love anyone else the way I love you. Because... you cared about me when no one else would. You made me believe in... me. You know?"

Her breath hitches slightly with my words, but otherwise she gives off no indication that she's heard me.

"Katniss," I say in a breath and she cranks her head up to face me. "Before you... I didn't have anyone."

I place a soft kiss against her scalp, closing my eyes as my lips hit her skin and I breathe in her strong scent. Her hair is still slightly sweaty and tastes salty when I lick my lips after breaking apart.

"You helped me when I thought I was past hopeless."

Katniss's eyebrows furrow and she shakes her head in determination.

"You will _never_ be hopeless."

With her promise, silence falls between us. We lay in a mess of tangled limbs and bodies pressed as tightly as possible against each other's. The longer we continue this mellow pattern, the heavier my eyelids feel until they slowly slide completely shut.

I'm not sure how long they're closed before Katniss lurches up into a sitting position, her eyes wide and trained on the side of my exposed hip. Her red-tinged cheeks turn pale as she continues to stare, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe it. I frown deeply, sitting up on my elbows to look where she does and spot the long trail of quarter-sized bruises that pebble my hip bone and upper outer thigh.

Shoot.

Instinctively, I try to lift the sheet bunched around us up higher to cover myself, but Katniss's hand wraps around my wrist tightly, stilling my movements.

She's shaking a little, but it's enough to make me sick.

"What happened?" she asks, her eyes claiming she already knows. I don't try to lie, it'll only make things worse, so instead I run a hand through my hair and lean back onto the bed fully. Her bottom lip trembles as she stares at the same wounded spot.

"Peeta, this needs to end," she speaks, her voice frighteningly low.

"Katniss-"

"No. _No,"_ she says, pointing a finger toward me, sniffing as her eyes start to water. "Don't feed me some bullshit about how it's all right. It's not all right! And I can't believe I let it slide before."

"_Katniss," _I try again, but she pulls at the roots of her hair, shaking her head back and forth.

"You _need_ to tell someone."

Whatever words I was going to say before die on my lips and I stare at her with wide eyes.

"No."

My answer surprises her, and that same tight-jawed look from before is back as she stares at me coldly.

"Yes."

"Katniss, listen to me," I say, sitting up, my voice shaking as it becomes more urgent. She _cannot _tell. _Anyone._

"I know... it's bad," I start, taking a steadying breath as my heart rate continues to increase. "But... but telling will only make it... w-worse."

"Peeta," she sighs, the wetness in her eyes spilling over and running down her cheeks. She bites her lip, turning away from me with a shake of her head. "I _hate_ this."

"I know. I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry," I apologize over and over, running a hand through my hair dejectedly. "I'm trying."

"No, Peeta. I don't think you are," Katniss snaps, her tone harsher than I can remember ever hearing it before. I turn toward her, but her back is facing me as she attempts to crawl off the end of the bed. I grab her forearm, holding on tight enough to still her movements, but not enough to hurt her.

"Don't do this," I beg and my voice cracks with my words unintentionally. I swallow heavily, the lump forming in my throat fighting its way down. "Don't leave me."

Her stiff body softens a little as her muscles relax in her arm a bit and her back slumps, defeatedly.

She turns back toward me, her eyes still rimmed red and cheeks splotchy. She sniffs a little before scooting herself closer until I can wrap my arms around her fully. My head rests over her messy hair and I breathe in her scent heavily, squeezing her tighter against me.

She doesn't fight it, but she refuses to return it either.

"Katniss," I say against her earlobe, tracing my hands up and down her exposed arm and shoulder. "I promise you... I'm trying. I-I just have to make it through... this school year and then maybe... I could move out. Hopefully. It's my... goal. Rye and me."

We've only talked about it a couple of times before, and mostly during fits of anger directed at Mother after one of her matches or when Rye is feeling particularly begrudged about the whole bakery situation. But, when Rye suggested it, his face suggesting seriousness, I'd taken his offer to heart.

"You can stay with us," Katniss says for not the first time. "There's room. It's not a burden."

"It's okay," I promise.

"You can't wait that long," she whispers a minute later, playing with the frayed edges of her blanket.

"I've waited seventeen years, Katniss," I chuckle, humorlessly. "I don't think seven months will make much difference."

She sighs deeply before leaning her head into my chest and I feel her arm come between us before she snakes it around my back, hugging me into her.

Although she stops fighting it, I'm left uneasy after her sudden outburst and the way she seemed so adamant about getting more people involved. I know she's coming from a different perspective on things, the perspective that wonders why the fuck I won't ask for help, or run or do anything but sit there and take it... but she will never understand things from my point of view.

And I know my situation better than she ever could. It won't accomplish _anything._

"Katniss?" I breathe and her body sort of lurches at the sudden noise, before she glances up in question.

I try to smile, but end up biting my lip instead, shrugging a little.

"Please, just... promise me you won't tell... anyone."

She inhales deeply.

"I have it under... control and... telling will only make it so much worse," I continue, shamelessly guilting her. "Promise?"

I watch as her throat tightens and she runs a shaking hand through her hair idly before nodding.

"Promise."

* * *

Thanks for reading and reviewing and adding me to your alerts and favorites! As always, it's greatly appreciated! Also thanks to the ladies who word battled with me...the chapter would not have finished itself as quickly without your help.

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